Paint over it all
by Julie Verne
Summary: Betty muses over the changes in Kate since she killed her father. Things are different, and that's not always bad. Chapter titles based on Ani diFranco lyrics.
1. And I am getting nowhere with you

Paint Over it all - A McAndrews fanfiction

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Disclaimer: I don't own Bomb Girls or any of the characters therein.

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Author's Note: I have never written fan fiction before, let alone femslash. Unbetad, because I have to use my BA for something. Edited for paragraphs because those huge chunks of text looked daunting. Reviews welcomed. Plans to continue are already underway. Also, H.G. Wells and John Buchan? Geniuses. The title comes from Ani diFranco's song 'Both Hands'.

This starts after Season 2, episode 4. Further chapters will explore actual episodes.

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Chapter 1: And I am getting nowhere with you

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You haven't really spoken to Kate in weeks. Nothing other than unavoidable chichat in the halls of the boarding house, or on the bomb assembly lines. You notice that she doesn't change next to you anymore.

Gladys does, and she doesn't seem to give a damn. Gladys, who knows what you are and doesn't give a damn. Gladys with her perfect hair and perfect fiancé and perfect life, still wants to be friends with you. You've seen Gladys and Kate talking though, and you're pleased. Kate needs someone to keep her grounded. You haven't come across her sleeping on the couch again and her skin has stopped smelling like stale beer when she brushes close enough for you to take in her scent. She smells like cordite and soap, the way you do, the way everyone but Gladys does.

But you've run out of ways to say that everything will be fine. You don't know it will be and you don't want to promise her a lie.

She asked why you wanted her ruining your life and you wanted to tell her that your life was better with her in it, even if she never feels anything for you. Even if she'd forgotten what happened the night of Pearl Harbour. You almost hope she has. Forgotten, that is.

Whenever you think of it you don't remember the sweet smile on her face just before you leaned in, you don't remember the feel of her so-soft hand on your so-sore shoulder and you especially don't remember the feel of her palm against your lips. You can only remember the look of disgust on her face as she sprang away from you, and sometimes you think you can still see that look on her face. She used to look at you like you'd saved her, and you hadn't; not yet at least, and when you did you lost her. Now she doesn't look at you at all.

You know she left with her father because of what you did, and you don't know what happened to her in the months between but you never knew her soul could be so bitter. When she first came to VicMu, scars still fresh, even under all the fear, she had the brightest laugh and the lightest soul. Now it weighs heavy, and you know it's your fault. You pushed her away from her life just as much as she pushed you away from her mouth, just as much as her father pushed you away from his daughter, all the way across the hall.

Just as much as she pushed him away from you, off a flight of stairs.

Seems as the scars fade on her back, the scars on her soul just keep getting deeper.

So much of what Kate's been doing since she came back doesn't make sense to you. You understood the way she drank after the alleyway, hell, you'd been knocking down whiskey yourself. You understood that she felt safe at the boardinghouse and you also understood why she felt she had to leave. You didn't understand the catch in her voice when she not-quite-asked if Ivan appreciated your new skin regime. You didn't understand the vitriol in her voice when she comments on the way you spoke of Ivan after you broke it off. You didn't understand the way she invited Gene over and tried to keep his attention in a room full of women.

You were glad Gladys was perched on the arm of your chair, radiating her own confusion, along with welcome warmth and a measure of sympathy that made you leap at the chance to leave the room, Kate sprawled across Gene's lap as tawdry as you've ever seen her. She never wanted you. This is what she wants. And she's safe here, and that's all you should care about.

That night, in the cellar with the Nazi, wasn't the worst you had ever passed. Neither was the night in the car with Ivan. The worst night you passed was the night Kate left, and so everything that happened you compared to that and somehow, just knowing that Kate was safe, would remain safe, made it easy enough to just detach and just pretend that whatever was happening wasn't real because the only thing that was real was the soft green eyes that you saw when you closed yours.

Gladys doesn't bother to knock today. Just waltzes straight in with a bundle of books instead of the booze she used to bring. It _is_ Sunday, and you _do_ like to read now and then, but you miss the booze. Gladys spends more time at the boarding house now that James has put her up in a hotel and left to fight in the war. Sometimes she falls asleep mid-sentence in your bed, and you're careful not to disturb her when you finally decide to climb in next to her. It's your damn bed and you'll be damned if you'll let some princess that doesn't even pay rent steal your damn bed. You're not surprised when she steals your half of the blanket, or when you wake up with her sprawled across you, taking up more room than a woman that tiny has any right to.

Kate knocks more than Gladys does, and that's because she walked straight in on that one morning. But the bathtub at Gladys' hotel more than makes up for any inconvenience she puts you to in the boardinghouse. A bath, water as hot as you can get it, and no stream of girls making their way through the washroom. Bliss.

Today she's excited about the social commentary in a book called Phoenix or something, but she's bought a few books for you, Rockbound and The Thirty-Nine Steps among them. You open the first book, wondering if Kate will join you both tonight after returning from wherever she's been disappearing to for weeks. You read until you're sick of all the conflicts and turn to the John Buchan book instead. You're so deeply involved in the story of espionage that you hardly notice when Kate comes in and curls up on the bed with Gladys. You look up to see her watching you read, so you smile and hand her the other book. But Kate and Gladys in the same room means there's talk of James and Gene and society that turns its back on Gladys now. Their delighted laughter and soft conversation sets a nice backdrop for your book and you feel, for the first time in a while, that you are home.

You yawn, half an hour later, the book falling finished from your fingers to see Gladys and Kate, still curled together, fast asleep. It's so sweet that you smile. But although there is barely room in the bed for three, you've been avoiding touching Kate at all since her return. Other than that moment when she stepped into you and called you family. Or when you let her clean your glass-cut hand, the gentle touch a ghostly mockery of the way you used to be. You suppose you could sleep in Kate's room but if she wakes up in the middle of the night and decides to go to her own room, you don't want her to find you in her bed. You decide on the rotten sofa downstairs. It's only one night, and if the Princess can handle it, so can you.

You wake to find Gladys hovering over you. It's early, early enough that no one else is stumbling around the common room. Her hand is resting on your shoulder and Kate is peeking over hers. You know it's her hand because the way she touches you hasn't changed one damn bit and that's the biggest comfort you have these days. And you still call her Princess, but you're gentle when you say it in a way you never used to be. Something about teaching a grown woman how to wash her own underwear clears up a lot of class issues.

There's no dignity in carrying a torch for a girl who doesn't love you back. Gladys had said that and you thought she'd been talking about Ivan but sometimes you wonder if she doesn't sometimes, just a little bit, resent you mooning over Kate. Or has lost respect for you somehow. You're not obvious, you know, or else someone would have said something, rumors would be making their way back to you, but Gladys _knows_ and you know she's seen the look of hurt flash across your face when Kate avoids you before you can straighten your face.

You pull your soft pack of cigarettes from your pocket, slightly crumpled from the way you've been lying on it the last couple of hours. You fish one out from the pack, fumble in your other pocket for your lighter. You take a couple of deep drags before offering the pack to Gladys, who shakes her head, and Kate, who takes one.

You're careful of the way you hold the pack so her fingers won't touch yours but they do anyway, fleeting flittering contact. You know Gladys is looking at you so you sit up, offer your lighter to Gladys, whose fingers brush yours and don't make you feel joyful and despondent all at once. You stretch your way to your feet and you know your back will be feeling the night on the rotten sofa by the end of your shift and you have to stop yourself from rubbing at your spine. No need to make them feel guilty for taking up your bed. You walk into the kitchenette and start putting together the coffee fixings, slicing a few slices of bread from the loaf. Kate takes them from the counter and puts them in the frying-pan while Gladys boils the kettle. You like this, working together toward a common goal in silence.

Gladys, as usual, is the one to break it.

"We didn't mean to kick you out of your own bed, you know." She whispers as soon as she thinks Kate is far enough away not to catch what she's saying. Kate is barely two feet away and her head jerks up at the sudden noise. She smiles at you.

"You didn't have to take the couch. You could have taken my bed, I was sleeping in yours anyway." You discover eye contact hurts this early in the morning and duck your head. You steal a slice of browned bread with your bare fingers because you feel the need to regain some bravado. You chew slowly on your way to get this morning's milk. Shouts and groans tell you the rest of the house is waking up and when you bring the milk back into the kitchen there are women everywhere and for once you're relieved rather than annoyed.

Gladys has already poured three coffees, Kate has relinquished the frying-pan to Rita, a small stack of toast all on one plate. You pour the milk and the three of you return to your room. You hover in the doorway with your coffee but Kate pats the spot beside her on your bed. You pick up your book from yesterday and place it gently on the side-table Gladys immediately takes the plate of toast from Kate and places it right on top of the book. You roll your eyes and sit next to Kate.

"Did you like that one?" Gladys asks in an undignified spray of toast crumbs. You wrinkle you nose but nod your head anyway.

"Yeah. Didn't understand some of the words though." You admit before sipping your coffee. Damned if you know how, but Gladys always makes the best coffee. The kettle is rubbish, the water tastes rusty but when Gladys makes the coffee it's always strong and rich and hot and perfect. It'd be infuriating if it wasn't so delicious.

"The Scotsman is hard to decipher, I've found." Gladys smiles. "I can't wait to finish mine. He really believes that something good can come from this war." You reach for another slice of toast and something in your back complains. You flinch, and Kate's hand is suddenly on your back so you flinch again.

"Oh Betty! You should have taken my bed. Or kicked me out. You know that couch is no good." Kate's hand is so warm and familiar that it's difficult to remember why you were reaching across her. Toast. That's right. You take a slice and straighten up, not quite shaking her hand off but you breathe easier when it drops from your back on its own.

"Yeah, I know, and that's why I don't let Gladys sleep on it any more. It'll be alright once I stretch it out." You tell her, not quite looking her in the eyes. It's too early, you tell yourself.

"Well, as part culprit I insist that you come to the hotel tonight and take a good long soak." Gladys says and you almost moan out loud at the thought of it. Hot, hot water and privacy.

"Sounds good to me, Princess," you say as you stand, brushing crumbs off your lap and onto the floor, sliding the buttons of your shirt undone as you reach for a fresh one. You pull one of Gladys' weekday dresses off a hanger and throw it at her then re-button and reach for your coffee. Kate is looking steadfastly at the book you had been reading when you turn around, and Gladys is trying to shimmy out of her impossible dress. You tug at a hem and it falls from her and Kate clears her throat. She finishes her coffee and slinks out of the room, shoulders in, the way she used to walk a year ago. Gladys looks at you and shrugs, the easy movement also bringing the clean dress over her head. You told her you wouldn't do her laundry yet somehow it made its way in among your things.

Kate doesn't talk to you on the way to the streetcar. Or on the streetcar. Or at VicMu. She barely even looks at you and ignores all of Gladys' concerned looks. You tell yourself you don't care, that this morning was just a break from your usual lack of interaction but you feel like you've taken a punch to your stomach as well as to your lower back.


	2. And I can't let it go

Chapter 2: And I can't let it go

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Author's Note: still working on this as I'm waiting for sleeping tablets to kick in.

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Gladys has never broken a promise. Not one she's made to you at least, other than that night she didn't come after Kate with you. She came through eventually and you guess that counts, even if a man died because you didn't have her way with words.

Gladys comes through for you with the bath as well. You follow her through the lobby, the doorman's fixed smile a grimace at that point in the afternoon. You follow her up the stairs, listening to her babble about Marco's family again and the injustice or imprisoning a man for his nationality and your face doesn't even twitch. You wait until she's locked the door behind you before you start on your shirt buttons, toeing shoes off and heading to the washroom. You turn the tap and sigh as steamy water pours against porcelain. In this moment you're so glad you know Gladys.

You're submerged when Gladys makes her way into the washroom, hands you a half-glass of whiskey and settles herself on the side of the tub.

"Kate stopped talking to you again." She says, her fingers slipping into the water once you take the whiskey from her hand. The water is hot and opaque and smells like lavender or some flowery scent you used to know, used to be familiar with before the war. You just sip slowly at your drink. You can almost feel all the tension in your back seeping away into the hot water.

"She stopped talking to you right after you pulled my dress off. Which makes me wonder if that's when she stopped talking to me too. She hasn't said a word to me since then, you know." So far she hasn't asked you a question so, until she does, you're staying quiet. You wonder if she'd planned this, trapping you naked and wet in her hotel room until she managed to wrangle an answer from you. But she'd offered before Kate went strange again, and Gladys is too impulsive to plan anything this elaborate for such a matter. For a fundraiser, sure.

"Well, Princess, maybe the sight of you in your underthings just made her want to run away."

"That can't be it. She sees that every day, and more, at the factory. No. It was something else." Gladys sips at her whiskey and you sip at yours too. It works faster with your head immersed in steam. "Do you think she thinks that you and I…" There's a knock at the door of the hotel room and both your heads turn to it, lazy from whiskey. "I'll just get that. Might even be a letter from James!" She says and gives a sudden smile. You turn back to your whiskey and contemplation. Gladys might be onto something. Kate might be upset about how close you've become with Gladys. But it's too hard not to be close with someone like Gladys, who descends upon you like an enormous aunty, clings to you like a limpet and supports you like a walking frame when you no longer have the strength to walk on your own.

"Kate! What a lovely surprise." You hear from the other room and you jerk upright, water sloshing from side to side (you never fill the tub up – there is a war on) and struggle to find a surface to put your glass on. Gladys has left the washroom door open, not expecting to invite someone in, and you really don't want her to invite Kate in without closing the door. Sure, you all see each other undressed at VicMu, but that's mandatory. You don't want to thrust your body upon her involuntarily. You'd rather she forget you had a body. So you slither-slide your way out of the tub and shut the door, retrieve your glass and throw yourself back into the tub. You can't make out any words from the other room, and you sink your ears below the level of the water to make absolutely sure you won't.

You're drying yourself off when Gladys slips back into the washroom. The way she pulls the door shut behind her speaks volumes. Kate's still here.

"I don't know why she's here." Gladys whispers.

"Does she know I'm here?" you ask as you slip your pants on, fumbling to turn your thick socks the right way around.

"She must have heard me offer my tub this morning, and she saw us get off at the same stop tonight." Gladys worries her lower lip with her teeth and your button your shirt before finishing your whiskey.

"So?" you ask as it burns its golden way down your throat.

"I don't know. This feels strange, doesn't it? It feels like I'm hiding you in here." She's almost wringing her hands and her discomfort is almost a joy to watch.

"Well, you are whispering." You smirk and hand her your empty glass.

"I don't know why." She says, rubbing the rim of your glass absently.

"Then speak normally."

"Betty, Kate's dropped in. I'm sure she'd appreciate it if you left your water in the tub." Gladys says out loud, loud enough that Kate should be able to hear her from the other room. You nod and brush past her and her hand grabs yours just as you touch the doorknob. She looks at you and you can read her face now and she's telling you not to scare her off. You nod, just barely, because you still don't like being told what to do by the poor little rich girl, but you nod and her grip slackens and you go into the other room.

Kate is perched on one side of the bed, bag clutched in onehand and her other hand holding the edges of her dress closed around her neck. It's become a habit you noticed develop as the bruises faded. She looks frightened and you feel your chest tighten. You don't want her to be frightened of you. You smile in the least-threatening way you can.

"Hey," you say softly. Her face pulls into a smile, her eyes locked on yours.

"Hey," she says.

"Bath's ready," Gladys calls from the washroom.


	3. And I can't get through

Chapter 3: And I can't get through.

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Author's note: I own nothing except a bird and she is awesome and likes corn and is definitely not the rights to this show. Because she's a bird.

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Once Kate has disappeared into the washroom, Gladys pours you both another half-glass of whiskey. You pull your soft pack from your pocket and have the match to the cigarette held firmly between your lips before you remember to ask Gladys if she minds. She waves her hand at your hesitation and pulls a cigarette for herself. You light both with steady fingers, shaking the flame out and dropping the spent match onto a bedside table. Gladys sprawls on the bed, looking untidily domestic as you slide your way back to rest against the headboard, your back no longer complaining.

She's halfway through her cigarette when you feel her give in. Silences make Gladys uncomfortable.

"I don't know why she's here," she says, exhaling deeply.

"You said that before, Princess," you roll your eyes.

"Well, I don't know. But I could hazard a guess, I suppose. I think she's suspicious." Gladys is studiously avoiding eye contact and you freeze with your cigarette halfway to your mouth.

"Suspicious? Of what?" You ask, trying to simultaneously drink and smoke. You know where this line of inquiry is going and by any god that exists you wish you didn't.

"Of us." You're choking now, trying to inhale whiskey and drink smoke is a terrible idea but at least you've distracted Gladys. She's patting you on the back and you're trying not to make a mess but you can't stop coughing and you can't reach your handkerchief. You thrust the whiskey at Gladys and manage to extract it from your pocket before spluttering good-quality whiskey from your burning airways. She rubs your back absently and hands back your glass. You stuff your wet handkerchief back in your pocket with a shudder. "It makes sense, really. She was gone for quite a while and when she came back the two of us were… closer… than before."

"But you're engaged! You're above suspicion!" You remember too late that Kate is in the other room and lower your voice. "You're not like me."

"I've also been sleeping in your room four nights a week. Come now Betty, surely you can see why she'd leap to such an erroneous conclusion."

"Sure, if I turn my head sideways and squint. But Gladys, I thought… Ivan…"

"You thought she'd forget?" You nod glumly and sip gently at the whiskey. That poor whiskey didn't deserve to be treated the way you'd been treating it, spitting it up and letting it sit. It deserved to be savored over fine conversation, not used as a backdrop to the fifth most awkward conversation you'd ever had. Fifth or sixth, at least. You have a tidy mind and a good memory of past mortifications. "You told her you loved her, didn't you?" You nod and sip again. You may not exactly approve of James but the man certainly has some fine tastes.

"I also told her I had a boyfriend." You've run out of whiskey, fine James whiskey that James buys for his girl that he puts up in hotel room while he's off fighting a country you have closer links to than you do the other person in the room. So you stand and pour another half, grateful that neither James nor Gladys are the stingy sort. You stub out your half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, then absently light another, sliding back onto the bed.

"So you thought she'd what? Just forget? Oh Betty."

"I know she didn't. She won't hardly look at me, won't hardly talk to me unless she needs something. And I deserve it. She trusted me, Glad. And I spat all over that."

"You didn't." Gladys has come closer and it isn't until you see her proffered handkerchief that you realize you're crying. You wipe your face with the back of your hand and throw back the rest of the whiskey.

"Thanks for the bath, Glad. Sure did the trick for my back. See you in the morning." You manage to stand and put the glass down before Gladys half-tackles you, pulling you into a full-body hug. You're frozen. And that's when you hear the washroom door creak open.


	4. Pink curtains and closed doors

Chapter 4: The old woman behind the pink curtains

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Author's Note: Can't sleep, clowns will eat me. I know where this is going now but I should be working on network architecture. If you think this is adequate, let me know.

Also, Bringing Up Baby with Katharine Hepburn and Cary Grant is beautiful and wonderful and made of black-and-white rainbows.

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You spring away from Gladys as fast as you can but you already know you're too late. Kate's mouth is hanging partly open and you've lost your cigarette, dropping to your knees to retrieve it before it burns a hole in the carpet.

"Kate, it's not… it's not what it looks like," you start, scuffing the spot in the carpet, your eyes following your socked feet.

"Kate! It is what it looks like, because that's what it is!" Gladys says and you try to follow her sentence through but if Kate wasn't between you and the door you'd have barged your way through it and been out on the street before she'd even finished it. "She was upset and I was comforting her, Kate, something I'm sure you've done once or twice yourself. So don't stand there looking at me like I've deflowered the poor girl!" You reach behind you to the cabinet you left the whiskey on. Once you've retrieved it you pour yourself another half, knowing you'll pay for it in your shift tomorrow but right now you can't bring yourself to care. The previous awkward conversation has just slipped down another spot. "Is that why you're so… skittish? Because Betty broke up with poor Ivan you think she's on the prowl for anything remotely feminine?" You snort into your whiskey and drink deeply when you realize the noise made everyone else focus on you.

Right now you miss the prairies. Sure, there weren't any girls like you out there but other than at Tangiers you haven't seen any girls like you anywhere. At least you weren't seen as odd back there, working hard alongside your brothers, making a go of the flat, empty land. Well, you were seen as odd, but as long as Ferd took you to the movies now and then you passed for normal. You'd never been called a _deviant freak_ there, and you have here, by three separate people. Gladys doesn't call you names, but Kate did, and her father did, and you have, repeating the words over and over and trying to make them sound… fitting to you. Appropriate. Nothing to be ashamed of.

_GAY._

It's a word Cary Grant used in a movie when he was seen in a woman's nightgown. A movie in which Katherine Hepburn wore trousers and you wished you could be her, or be near her, or just hold her, just once. And if someone so upright and honest and _good_ as Cary Grant could say he was gay in a movie well, wasn't that just showing that the world was changing? For the better?

_GAY._

Sounds so innocent, doesn't it? Cheerful, even. No one would think such a sweet word had been twisted to such a perverse meaning. And reconciling that with yourself? You never thought you would. You never thought you'd have to, not really. You were going to work on the farm till all the boys were grown and then you were going to find yourself a nice lady to live with under the guise of sharing expenses.

Then Hitler decided he wanted more and so did you. You try not to think of yourself in terms of him, but you do have a shared motherland. And what you want are such different things, and his attempts at what he wants are making your own wants a reality. A real job, with a real wage, with hope for the future. You won't need to get married, not now. You can buy yourself a house and live in it and to hell to anyone who said anything about it. You can even wear pants down the street, after work. You love the way pants feel. You used to wear them in the fields, but never in town. There's a freedom, comes with pants. Freedom you appreciate every day.

The room is silent and Kate is blushing so hard there's not much difference between her hair and her face.

This time Gladys doesn't break the silence.

"I… I didn't... I don't…" Kate starts her explanation but you roll your eyes and pass what's left of your drink to Gladys.

"Thanks for the soak, Glad. I'm off for a good night's sleep." You brush your way past Kate and dip your head to Gladys as you shut the door. You're passing the doorman with his stiff shoulders and stiffer smile when you see his eyes flick downwards and realize you've left your work shoes upstairs. You only have one pair. You pause in the doorway. If you call Gladys when you get home you can ask her (nicely, of course) to bring them in with her tomorrow. But you'll have to wear your street-shoes in and you don't want to bring yourself to Mrs. Corbett's attention. She's probably forgotten about the stupid letter about a girl that never worked at VicMu but you don't want to bring yourself to her attention. You sigh, hand on the door and drop your butt into the lobby ashtray. You take the stairs two at a time.

You want this day to be over already.

When you reach Gladys' closed door, you lean your head against it. You can hear muffled conversation, but no one's yelling. You knock, gentler and quieter than you ever have. Gladys flings the door wide open and you flinch at what feels like sudden exposure.

"Betty! What a lovely surprise!" she says, as though you had not heard her say nearly the same thing to Kate nearly an hour ago. You grimace rather than smile but you put the effort in.

"Need my shoes, Princess," you grumble. You can't see them in the main room so you rush into the washroom and thankfully they're there, one under the tub, slightly wet, the other behind the latrine. You force your feet into them and don't bother with the laces, stumbling slightly as you wade your way out the door.

"Betty, wait!" you hear Kate call through the open door and she scurries out next to you. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Gladys," she says primly and it's all you can do to keep from spluttering in undignified laughter. You smirk your own goodbye to Gladys as she closes the door between you.

"I just thought… there's no sense in us both going alone to the same place, is there?" Kate says, breathless and obviously uneasy. You don't know what went on between Gladys and Kate but if it means Kate's walking home with you, you don't really care. You've been awful lonesome as of late. You shy sideways when you feel a pressure on your arm as you navigate the stairs again, but it's just her hand sneaking into the crook of your elbow, where it always used to be when you walked together and hasn't been lately. It feels nice and you wish it didn't.

You wait until you're out of sight of the hotel with its twitching curtains before dragging Kate over to a bench so you can tie your damn shoelaces. You've got an inkling Gladys is already laughing at you and you don't want to give her any fresh opportunities to do so.


	5. She's listening through the airshaft

Chapter 6: She's listening through the air-shaft

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You walk back to the rooming house, linked arm-in-arm with Kate, but neither of you talk about what just happened. You don't ask her why she decided to drop by Gladys' hotel room when she knew you'd be there, and she doesn't ask why Gladys was hugging you so furiously, as though she'd never let go.

It should be awkward, but it isn't. It's a nice gentle evening, not genuinely cold but cold enough that the warmth from Kate's arm feels like a small furnace. You don't say much, and neither does she, but at least you're talking again, at least you feel like you're getting somewhere. You're Betty McCrae, you're twenty-eight, and you're walking the streets of Toronto with the most beautiful girl in the whole damn city on your arm. You feel a trail of hope run up your spine and leave the hair on the back of your neck tingling with residual optimism.

Kate looks sideways at you and smiles shyly and you find yourself smiling back before reaching for a cigarette. You're nearly at the rooming house and you pause under a streetlight to bring your lighter to the tip. Kate snakes her hand into yours before you can slip your soft pack back into your pocket and tugs out a cigarette for herself. One of these days you're going to stop letting her steal your cigs, but for now you let her, and you let her cup your hand as you bring the lighter to the tip of her cigarette, knowing she can feel you shaking.

"Are you cold?" she asks, taking both hands in hers now, turning you to face her. You shake your head, try to withdraw your hands but she has a surprisingly sturdy grip on you. She is making eye contact when she leans forward and goddamned _blows_ on your fingers. Her breath is warm and sudden and it makes something inside you warm. You start choking on your cigarette for the second time today and she lets you withdraw a hand to pull the cigarette from your mouth and just breathe. She holds your other hand, though, and smiles.

She holds your hand the rest of the way to the rooming house, past a gaggle of yawning, half-dressed girls, all the way up the stairs until she stops outside your opposing doors.

"Well, good night, Betty," she says and disentangles her fingers from yours. You want to reach out but instead you let your hand drop back to your side.

"Good night, Kate." You say back. She smiles brighter and turns away, unlocks her door.

You're lying on your bed, stubbing out your cigarette when you realize she never handed you back your soft pack. You toss up knocking on her door and buying a new pack, and two minutes later you're out on the street, slightly thicker coat, change jingling in your pocket. That pack was almost empty anyway, and you ended the day on such a good note that you're sure that if you knocked on her door and asked for your cigarettes, you'd end up taking another two steps back.

You see her curtains twitch though, when you get back home. You unlock your door extra slowly, and a little louder than usual, but she doesn't come out. You throw yourself back on the bed, still buzzed from whiskey, and light another cigarette.

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Author's note: Just a brief aside; I really connected with Betty when I watched Bomb Girls, not least because the first girl I loved was a redhead with an angel's voice and deep devotion to her religion. What happened in S01E06 is almost exactly what happened to me, except I didn't kiss her and she exorcised me.


	6. see how long our silk stocking will last

Chapter 6: To see how long our silk stockings will last

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Author's note: This is S02E05, in a nutshell. I went through and checked and Kate never wears nail polish. I don't think this is the end, quite yet.

* * *

Something's been missing in your life. Not Kate, since she came back. But something about Kate is missing. And it's not just the ready smile and lighthearted laughter. It's her voice.

You haven't heard Kate sing since she came back. Gladys says she choked up when Gene was on the piano and you wish you had been there to talk through the aftermath of that. You're pretty sure she won't talk about it, even to you, since so much time has passed. You miss hearing her hum as she brushes her hair at night, both your doors open. You miss Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald in constant rotation on the record player.

Leon knows something's wrong, and he figures you're the best chance she has to set her right. You took her to his damn church and it didn't fix her. It fixed you. You don't feel like you have to pretend any more. Well, you do, but at least you don't have to pretend to yourself. And it gave you the courage to stop stringing Ivan along.

The new girls at VicMu are a pain in your ass. At least one of them is. Won't keep her head down, keeps trying to call you out, keeps trying to prove herself and tries so hard she causes a gash three inches long on Glady's wrist.

You're lucky you're at her side when it happens. She just goes down when she sees the cut and you start to catch her but you are so filled with indignation that you have to point out that you have workers on the line that aren't doing their jobs. Mrs. Corbett sends you with Gladys to the nurse. She's keeping her wrist up and you're supporting her but she turns off like a light right as you walk past the cordite line. You pick her up and carry her to the nurse, ignoring panicked gasps and voices calling after you. It's bad form for a girl to be carried off the line, but it's Gladys. You need to get her out of there.

Gladys does need stitches, as you'd predicted. She also gets the rest of the day off, while you're stuck listening to some new girls idly gossip on the line. It's a long couple of hours until the end of the shift but finally, as you're lighting your cigarette and soaking in the sunshine Kate comes over to you and asks how Gladys is faring. You just grunt and shrug.

"Three stitches."

"Did you watch?" Kate asks, and you nod curtly. Luckily Gladys had still been old cold, and when she woke up, clean white bandage on her wrist, she hadn't fainted again. Just took the news that she had three stitches in her stride and walked on out of the factory.

"Beer after work?" Kate asks. You finally look up. She's biting her bottom lip and you say yes before your brain can catch up with what you're saying. "Jewel Box?" You nod and walk in step with Kate to the street car.

Marco's there as usual; it's one of the few haunts an Italian guy that's not a soldier can hang out in this city. He used to go where he liked and fight his way out, but these days you guess he's choosing his battles. You're surprised Vera isn't there too, but she's been busy lately, what with keeping up with Carol and the high society life. You've just started your second beer when you see Kate spill beer on a soldier boy. The poor girl hasn't got a flirting bone in her body, you think, but you don't go to bail her out. Marco does though, because he doesn't recognize nervous flirtation when he sees it. He's kindly when it's explained to him, and offers some advice, which is all fine and dandy until he pulls you into it.

"Practice on Betty," he says, oblivious to the stunned look on Kate's face and the horror in your heart.

"You're an idiot," you tell him. "I'm not a guy."

Kate seems to have no problem pretending though, and the thought thrills you as much as it scares you.

Of course the very next night you get into a fight at a mixer for promoting harmony between the old crew and the new crew. And of course Marco helps you out. And of course Mrs. Corbett takes the new girl's side. But that doesn't matter because right now you are comfortably smoking on your bed and Kate is painting your nails. She'd seen to your knuckles and your bruised eye (of course it's the left one again) and noticed your nails and suddenly got excited about the idea of painting them.

She's clumsy and it's endearing to think she's never done this before.

You've been trying not to look down at her legs but you do anyway and you realize after a moment that she wore Gladys' silk stockings to the mixer. And is still wearing them now. It's so distracting you almost don't hear her asking if it's alright if she dates Ivan. It is not alright but you can't find the words in that moment to tell her and once again you find yourself saying yes before your brain can catch up. At least Ivan is a hell of a lot better than Gene.

When she asks if you can help her pick out a dress one of your hands is still cradled in hers and the left side of your face is throbbing again so you put on your best brave face and you know you can't deny Kate anything she would ask of you so you say yes and the tip of her finger wipes the tip of your finger and you're so dizzy you hand her the rest of your cigarette and have to lean against the bedstead.

She finishes your cigarette and you watch her through a half-brain-fug, half-cigarette-smoke haze. That cigarette was just in your mouth. And now it's in her mouth. You're never brave enough to steal one from her, but she always takes yours. You're wondering about the implications of this when you notice a run in the shin of one of the silk stockings. It jars you, jolts you upright. It's harsh and you don't like seeing a run in Kate's silk stocking that used to be Gladys' who you used to be jealous of, especially when Kate admired these very stocking so very much, ran her hand over Gladys' nearly naked thigh and made you hate Gladys for killing the feeling you'd just experienced, dancing in public for the first time with a woman.

You never hated Gladys, not really. But you used to be jealous of the way Kate looked at her.

Kate's looking at you expectantly and you realize you're sitting uncomfortably upright.

"Seems you got a run. Shame, in silk. Still, clear nail polish. Over there." You gesture with your head and grimace and lean back against the bedstead. You're having trouble keeping your left eye open so you let it close, watching her unscrew your clear nail polish and dab it lightly on her shin. Your right eye drifts closed as well and you think the bed might be moving in a circular direction. You lay down more and firmly will your bed to stop behaving like this. Your bed moves again and it takes a moment to register that it's just Kate getting to her feet, that the motion is real and not one of these spinning things. You hear the gentle clink of your nail polishes being replaced on the dresser and the footfalls of someone in wooden-soled shoes trying to walk quietly. Then a cold hand is soothing the warmth of your shiner and there is the soft pressure of lips in your hair and a "Thank you, Betty," close to your ear.

You're asleep before she closes the door.

You go back to Leon's church on Sunday, on your own this time. You've stopped wondering where Kate disappears to on her days off. You've left your door unlocked and a note for Gladys on the bed that simply says 'Out. Be back soon.'

You skulk around the building and sneak in after it starts and you sit in the back again, head bowed, letting words like _love_ and _acceptance_ wash over you as though they were real. Leon's got a real gift, that smooth voice that's just right for blues and preaching. You've never felt so complete, listening to this black man in his black church. You don't even feel conspicuous, the one blonde head in the place.

The singing has started again, but you hear once voice that doesn't fit. When you look up green eyes are locked on you and brimming with tears. And now you know where Kate's been spending her Sundays and you kind of get the feeling that Kate found what she's been missing.


	7. Both Hands

Chapter 7: Both hands

* * *

Author's note: This ol' thing is set between S02E05 and S03E06. Tangiers, because I miss that dive bar. It's pretty long because folks just kept wandering in and out and having existential crisis all over the place.

Also, I'm getting pretty sick of having this song stuck in my head.

Also, Ivan's probably not racist, probably just extraordinarily uncomfortable.

Also, breasts. Because they're there.

Also, it gets better.

Let me know what you think.

* * *

You kind of miss dancing, but you've only ever danced with Kate. And Ivan, maybe once or twice. You know you're no good at it, and you know that it's not really dancing that you miss. So you're sitting in the Jewel Box again, drinking beer and wondering why Gladys and Vera aren't here. Marco is though, and you take a spin with him, for lack of anything better to do. You're mid-twirl when Ivan comes in, Kate hanging off his arm and laughing, eyes bright as she gazes at him. You push Marco around so you don't have to look at them, and he lets you and you let your head rest on his chest for just a moment. He thinks you're trying to avoid Ivan, you know that and you want him to keep thinking that so you thank him for the dance, finish your beer and slide on out the door.

Someone follows you onto the street and you were hoping it was Kate but it's just Marco being gallant. Figures he wouldn't let a girl walk the dark Canadian streets at night alone.

"Hey. Where ya goin'?" He asks as he falls into step beside you.

"Tangiers. Leon's band's on tonight. Figured I'd catch that instead."

"Instead of watching Ivan cozy up to your best friend? Sounds like a plan."

"They let you in?" You ask, conscious that you haven't seen him anywhere other than the Jewel Box for quite some time. You haven't seen him fighting with soldiers on the street either. His anger feels bitter, instead of white-hot, like it used to feel.

"They let everyone in," he says, but his jaw has tightened, as if he's already readying himself for a fight. Your eye is healing up real nice but you're not ready to jump in to defend him tonight. You were going to head to Tangiers, listen to Leon sing something other than that gospel, dance a little, maybe make a new friend. The one-night kind of friend. That's something you haven't done for a while – not since you met Gladys, you realize. Not since you met Kate. Maybe it's time to work off a little stress. Maybe it'll make you hurt a little less. But then you look over to Marco and you realize, below his bravado is a very fragile and bruised man. A man who has to live a life a lot like yours would be if people knew your last name wasn't really McCrae.

So you light up a cigarette and follow him down the stairs to the bar. Leon tilts his head up at you as he sings and you tilt yours back and set up at the bar to get a drink or two. Two, actually. One for Marco, who just now is strutting towards a pretty brunette like he hasn't a care in the world. You have a beer in each hand as you walk over and he takes getting shot down with remarkable ease. He's laughing as you hand him a beer.

"Steady on, Marco. Plenty of time for that. Why don't you…" your voice trails off as you see and old friend, of the one-night variety, talking to Regina. Who's not hating it. Who has her hand on her arm. Who is definitely not old enough to be in this bar and is definitely not old enough to be drinking that drink and is definitely not old enough to be sliding her hand down the back of that lady's pants. You splutter on your beer and direct Marco's attention to a pretty blonde over in the other direction. "Why don't you try that one?" Marco's off like a shot and you decide you deserve his beer as well, especially as the blonde is smiling amenably and laughing at something Marco said.

You glance back in the other direction and Regina looks up at the same time as you and your eyes catch and she's startled, pushing the other woman's mouth away from her neck. She's scared now, you can see it. She wasn't scared when you told her you knew her age, that you were going to get her fired, when you punched her. It just figures she'd be scared about this though. You shake your head ever so slightly, raise your beer to her and go back to watching Marco.

You're still watching Marco dance with the blonde when Regina sidles over. You were expecting her to accept the reprieve and scuttle off into the night with her new friend.

"Hey," she says, resting her elbows on the bar next to you. You nod to acknowledge her existence but leave it at that. You kind of get why she's been such a thorn in your side now.

"So… you aren't gonna tell anyone then?" She asks, voice low, eyes flicking through the crowd as if to catalogue every single person there. Making sure no one else she knows saw her, you think.

"Isn't any of my business, what you get up to outside of work hours. Just so long as your work doesn't suffer." You turn your head to look at her now. "Because if there's one thing I don't enjoy it's sloppiness on the line. You bring your top game tomorrow."

"And if I don't?" Her voice sounds defensive now, but you didn't mean it to sound like a threat.

"Then you put in your best effort. Geez, do I gotta spell it out? I didn't see nothing, now get your butt out of here." You turn back to your beer.

"Or what? You'll tell 'em how old I am?" She sounds amused rather than defensive this time.

"Nah. They let everyone in here," you say, and you're aware of the double-edgedness of your phrasing. You're here with an Italian whose father is in an internment camp, a queer underage coloured woman and you yourself are a child of Germans, the very nation you build bombs to destroy. You drink the rest of your beer. "They let anyone in," you say quietly, and make your way back to the bar. Leon meets you there.

"Church mouse not with you?" He asks, pushing his hat back. It must be hot under those stage lights, you can see beads of sweat glistening on his freshly-revealed forehead.

"Nope," you say, accepting a whiskey and cola from him.

"Now that is a shame. Losing the attention of the crowd, sure would be nice to get her back on the stage." Leon clinks the ice cubes from his drink in his mouth and you wonder, briefly, why black people have the most relaxed preachers. You're standing elbow to elbow with an honest-to-god preacher and you're both sipping whiskey-colas like it's normal.

"You got her up on the pulpit, that ain't enough for you?" Leon shrugs.

"She's doing better, isn't she?" He asks, and you're aware of how he's looking at you. It's sympathetic and comforting. You nod. "She's seeing your fellow, isn't she?"

"Not my fellow anymore," you say, trying to look casual. Like you're more upset about him dating her than otherwise. It's getting late and you've seen Regina slip off with her new friend, and now you're watching Marco follow a girl upstairs, she's leading him by the hand and they have to keep right when a couple comes down the stairs.

"I'd say not," Leon comments as Kate leads Ivan to the bar. You turn your back to them but Kate spots Leon and is standing beside you before she realizes it's you she's standing next to. Ivan looks uncomfortable and you're pleased. There are a number of reasons you never bought him to Tangiers, not least because you hadn't been back since Pearl Harbor.

"Leon. Betty. So lovely to see you here," Kate gushes and now you know she spotted your hasty exit in the Jewel Box. Her elbow is just brushing your side and you press yourself into the bar to get away from it. "Ivan, this is Leon." Kate says. Ivan looks even more nervous, if that's even possible, and you try not to smirk. You know you aren't succeeding when Kate's elbow makes its way to your rib-cage with some force. You cough to cover the movement and watch Leon and Ivan awkwardly shake hands.

"Heard a lot about you," Ivan says, and Kate's elbow hits your ribs again before you can even start to roll your eyes.

"Likewise," says Leon, succinct as always. But then he elaborates. "From Betty, that is." You kind of love him for that. Ivan's eyes dart to you, then back to Kate, then back to you. He's so unsettled that you almost feel sorry for him.

"Yup. Well folks, it's getting late. I'm gonna turn in. Good to see you, Leon. And you two," you gesture vaguely in the area of the Kate-and-Ivan entity that feels like it's following you around.

"You'll come by on Sunday?" Leon asks. You nod and hand what's left of your drink to Kate, out of habit. Kate takes it, pays it no mind but Ivan isn't used to the way Kate takes whatever you're done with from you.

You make it to the stairs before Kate grabs your hand. You look back and Ivan is holding your/Kate's drink like he doesn't know what to do with it.

"One dance, Betty?" she asks.

"Whatcha wanna dance with me for? You got a perfectly good fellow right there." You point to where Ivan is standing uncomfortably next to Leon. Leon claps him on the back and goes back onstage and you wonder if Kate's asked Ivan about his prejudices yet. You figure no, because he's only just met Leon and she wouldn't have seen him like this before.

"Just dance with me? I feel like you've been running away from me all night. All week, really. Since I started seeing Ivan. You shouldn't have said it was fine if it wasn't." Kate's face is bunched up and to avoid a scene you take both her hands in yours and lead her to the most dance-part-of-the-floor. She slips an arm around your waist and rests it on the middle of your back. The other rests in yours and you're staggered by the smell of her, the feel of her in both hands, one of yours resting on a soft shoulder, the other nested in a hand calloused from hard work. She's pressed up against you and you're very aware of her breasts and your breasts and the way her breasts are pressed up against your breasts and you're trying not to be so aware of all the breasts but now every second word in your head is _breasts_ and every first word is _Kate's_.

Leon starts crooning and you're trying to keep your face away from Kate's face and you look over and see Ivan and suddenly his discomfort isn't so funny, or even obvious, because yours is seeping out of every pore in your face.

"It is fine, isn't it? That I'm seeing Ivan?" Kate asks again and you really want to tell her no but she is so soft and warm and _breasts_ so you nod your head against hers and your breath catches when she pulls you even closer to her. "Thank you Betty," she says quietly. "I mean it. If you hadn't found me…" Her voice trails off and you thought she was past thinking about that, about the life with her father and his subsequent horrifying death, but maybe she isn't. And maybe you're the only person she can talk about that with. But you doubt that if you hadn't found her she would have stayed with that man for much longer. She'd have found a way to leave, but he'd still be alive and she'd still be looking over her shoulder. She's resting her head on yours and you have to say something, do something, to get her mind of that unpleasantness that's dwelling in there.

You have to get away from her so you don't do something stupid because the feel of her in your arms is making you forget the look on her face after you _kissed _her and suddenly it comes to you in a rush, how soft her lips are and how you _know _what she tastes like and you do something you never thought you'd do. You gesture to Ivan behind Kate's back. And you let him cut in. And then you cut out of there. You feel Kate's eyes on your back as you climb the stairs but your eyes are watery and you don't, you can't look back.

You won't be going back to Tangiers in a hurry.


	8. don't close your eyes

Chapter 8: Now use both hands; oh no, don't close your eyes.

* * *

Author's note: Gladys was acting like a dick at the end of the first half of season 2 and is pretty much a Betty/Kate shipper so I figured a brief interlude of confusion was due. I'm trying to follow cannon as much as I can.

I swear, I'm not trying to make this thing miserable but then I watch an episode and look at Betty's face and, well, damn. This is a pretty miserable thing.

I'm really uncertain about this one, not least because it's 9am and I haven't been to bed yet. And I have never wanted to smoke more in my life.

* * *

Gladys is in your room when you get home, muttering dire threats toward her parents yet again. She's also twisting in a circle, trying to undo the back clasps of her stockings. You can tell she's pretty drunk from the way she's slurring words like _entitlement _and _hypocrisy _and _Gene _and _mother._ You really don't need this right now, another in-depth analysis of why James is an idiot for being overseas and forcing her to think he's cheating on her and why it's fine for her to fool around with that jerk of a Corbett kid while her fiance is fighting overseas because he's obviously cheating on her. She's usually more articulate but tonight she's blind and angry and still trying to wrench her stockings off. For the sake of the silk you push her onto the bed and undo them yourself. You've never had a pair yourself, but you've taken a pair off of someone else before (albeit under different circumstances) and you're able to roll them off her legs without tearing them. You ball them up and put them on the dresser. Gladys is eyeing you from the bed, a stream of nonsense words and logic still streaming from her mouth. You nod occasionally and make soothing-type noises while you change into pajamas. You're pretty glad Gene is out of town, but Gladys obviously isn't. Feeling abandoned, most likely. You're not sure what she sees in him, but then, you wouldn't.

You go brush your teeth and when you return Gladys is still talking but is now stuck half-in and half-out of her dress. You disentangle her arms and head and she lays back down in her slip.

"I just… he's so annoying," She says with a sigh, and you're not sure if she's talking about her soldier or her pilot or her father. So you nod and light a pre-bed cigarette. Gladys reaches for it before you've finished your first puff and you hand it to her and light another.

"Tell me about it," you say, thinking of Ivan.

"But he's more… alive than anyone I've ever met, isn't that strange?" Gene, you think.

"How'd you mean?" You ask, sitting next to her.

"He's just… he inhabits his life more fully than anyone I know. You know?" You roll your eyes. Another girl buying into another soldier's bravado.

"No, I don't, Princess. Unless you mean he takes up a lot of space and makes a lot of noise, then yeah." Just the thought of Gene Corbett leaves you in need of a wash. His attitude is larger than he is. And he has anything but a good attitude.

"A little. He's not afraid. Of anything."

"Well, I'd say that's a load of bull. Everyone's scared of something, Glad. Everyone. He puts up a good front but that Nazi in our yard shook him." Being a pilot, you're pretty sure he'd never come face-to-face with the enemy before. He knew exactly what would happen to him if his plane came down over enemy lines and he threw his thankfulness that it was this way around into every punch.

"Didn't shake you though, did it Betts? You came upstairs and he stopped you from using the phone so you went back into the cellar with a Nazi. An actual Nazi. I'm glad he didn't kill you, did I ever tell you that? Because I am. Glad, that is." She leans up, blows a gust of smoke in your face and you think she meant to kiss your cheek but her aim is off and she gets the side of your mouth. You've seen Gladys tearful, angry, drunk and upset but you've never seen her quite this _messy_ before. Gene has a lot to answer for.

"Yeah, me too, Princess." You scoot her over to make room for you, stub both cigarettes in the ashtray and stand to get the light. You hear the thump of Kate's door being opened but you don't hear hushed whispering and you figure Ivan didn't escort her upstairs. Good. Last thing she needs is him sniffing around her like a dog.

Last thing you need, actually.

You're tucking the both of you in as Gladys is partway through explaining again why her mother is so very wrong about everything that has ever happened and how Lorna is smothering her son when there's a soft knock on the door, followed by a soft "Betty?"

You lean up on your elbows. "Yeah?"

"May I come in?" Kate's real quiet through the door.

"Yeah."

Gladys is in the middle of a sentence on the other side of the bed when Kate opens the door but by the time Kate turns on the light she's moved her head onto your shoulder and is half-draped over you.

"Gladys, I didn't realize you were here. How are you?" Kate asks, eyes wide as you've ever seen them. Gladys mumbles incoherently into your shoulder but you think you can make out the phrases _can't see what's in front of you _and _outdated belief system._

"Drunk. Very drunk," you answer for her.

"Oh." Kate's fiddling with her fingernails and trying not to look at you.

"So, what did you need?" You ask, shrugging Gladys off your shoulder and leaning up on your elbows again. You're immediately pinned to the bed by Gladys' forearm across your chest. "Knock it off, Princess." You pull her arm off of your chest but her hand lingers on your breast before you can fully dislodge it.

"Mmmm, soft," mumbles Gladys, her arm around your waist and Kate is now staring at your chest.

"Well?" You ask defensively. Kate clears her throat and meets your eyes.

"Uh. I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. You took off from Tangiers pretty fast."

"Just dandy, Kate, if Gladys would keep to her side of the bed. You have a hotel room, you know." This last thing you say to Gladys, who digs her face back into your shoulder with a _don't wanna_. Kate clears her throat again.

"I mean, I just wanted to make sure that we were alright. That you're not mad at me or something." Kate's eyes have drifted back to your chest. You look down yourself. You're decent. A button or two extra could be done up, but you're decent.

"We're fine, Kate," you tell her, but you feel too vulnerable lying down so you swing your feet onto the floor and grab your cigarettes. You pull one out and light it. "Why wouldn't we be?" You ask as you offer the pack out to her.

"She's dating your ex-boyfriend," calls Gladys from behind you, reaching around you for your cigarette. Kate flinches, then lights her own cigarette.

"I am dating your ex-boyfriend. Are you sure…"

"You've asked me three times. Have I said no?" You ask, grabbing your cigarette back from Gladys. One of these days you're going to make these girls buy their own cigarettes.

"Well, no." Kate still looks uncertain though, like she's breaking some sort of moral code.

"Then it's fine," you tell her slowly.

"Well, thanks for the smoke, Betty. Goodnight, Gladys." And with that Kate wafts out the door in a cloud of smoke. Gladys pulls herself upright and pulls you back into her.

"She's just not ready, Betty. I'm sorry," Gladys says into your ear. You slowly smoke the rest of the cigarette before stubbing it out, shaking Gladys off of you and turning off the light.

When you get back into bed she holds you from behind and doesn't say a word when your shoulders start shaking.


	9. Writing graffiti on your body

Chapter 9: I am writing graffiti on your body

* * *

Author's note: Set in S02E06, because it's time Betty finally got some. Booyah. It'll veer off again soon but _dayum_ it's about time Betty got her groove on.

Thank you to everyone who has read this so far and for all the kind reviews. Makes me feel all warm inside, y'all.

* * *

You weren't looking for anything, really you weren't. Not with Kate, not with Ivan, not with anyone. You just wanted to be left alone.

You didn't even notice the Bond Girl the first time you saw her, other than to snort at her reaction to Gladys. It was a pretty typical reaction, actually. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to make you think she was like you. But you'd been caught up in Kate and her singing and it was so nice to see her happy that you almost didn't care that Ivan was the one making her happy. Almost. You did buzz him on the line, but just once. That's nothing from you.

You can tell Kate's getting snippy about all the time Gladys is spending at the rooming house when she points out Gladys doesn't actually live there. She was the one who first invited her over, but you guess thing just change. Kate doesn't look at Gladys like she's a movie star any more either. She's sharper to her since her attempt to seduce Gene went South and Gladys' went… well, must be North. All the way up to the polar bears.

Kate finally convinces you go to out with her to meet Ivan, but as soon as he spots her, well, you might as well not have come and you wonder why you thought anything different might happen, like either of them saying a word to you. So you set yourself up at the bar and you try not to watch them dance but of course you do.

And of course Teresa (you learn her name to be Teresa) has to see you watch Kate and Ivan dancing and of course she could tell. She could tell which one of them you really wanted. That cued you in, but you were scared. You were as scared as Regina was when she saw you watching her in Tangiers. It's scary when someone finds out your secret, even if you know they'll never tell because your secret is the exact same one as theirs.

It takes a few minutes of terror pricking along your skin and a rush of blood to your brain before you realize that she is subtly and very smoothly trying to pick you up. You duck out as soon as you can think of something polite to say and you don't bother to say goodnight to Kate and Ivan. You doubt they'll even notice you're gone.

Kate comes tripping into your room a couple of hours later, bubbling with Ivan and dancing and music and Ivan. You heard her door thud open half an hour ago and this time you heard familiar whispering and you really… can't. You can't take living across the hall from her and hear her saying goodnight to Ivan, you can't take… any of this. So you turn to your knitting. It just makes this worse. You're a terrible knitter and you've never had the patience. You weren't kidding when you told Kate you were no good at crocheting. She's enamored of herself tonight, and she's airing on national radio tomorrow and she's so happy and you're so not. And she's the cause of this unhappiness within you.

You let her grab your hands, sure, and you let her dance with you because physical contact with Kate has always left your brain slow and slightly paralyzed. Then she starts humming that ridiculous jingle and you can't take her happiness any more. It's not like you preferred her when she was boozing it up and lost and nothing but a pair of sad eyes, but she just doesn't care that she's just _flaunting_ everything you don't have.

She asks if it's Ivan that's the problem, again. It's not Ivan. She knows it's not Ivan and you're sick of this game she's playing, all innocence and naivety. You have to move away from her or you'll end up just placating her again and you can't do that. Not tonight.

So you tell her how it is and when she slams the door and it's almost a relief.

You dress up more than you usually would for the cavalcade, and you go see if that Bond Girl needs a hand. It's the scariest thing you've done since you went back to find Kate on that snowy street, since you went back into that cellar after disabling the Nazi in it. But you slide in next to her, keep your hands busy and for the first time ever you're talking to someone who knows what it's like to be you.

You've had dalliances, sure. But you don't _talk_ to those women, past your initial hellos and goodbyes. You don't ask how they hide out in the open, or what they use for camouflage, or how they _knew_ they were different. It's almost like a business transaction, and everyone leaves feeling heavier than when they came. You do recognize each other though, you can see when someone has the same tendencies as you and there's always a thrill of fear when you see someone recognize it in you. You never know who might rat you out. You were already used to it, you've been hiding a German heritage since you were very young, but sometimes it felt too heavy. You've never felt safe when you recognized someone, or when someone recognized you. It was always a covert mission, sneaking out of the rooming house and into a car around a corner to go park out in a field in the middle of nowhere and coming home feeling sated but unsatisfied.

You've never felt safe. And you know she can tell how scared you are but she smiles and you get the feeling that you might be safe here.

You stay with her so long you miss the jingle. Kate probably hasn't missed you though, so when you slip into your seat to watch the rest of the live radio recording you're surprised to see her singing by herself. You slip out before she's finished though. Ivan's there. She won't miss you. And you've got better things to do for once, even if it's folding forms.

You surprise yourself by inviting Teresa back to the rooming house. Everyone is at the cavalcade, but you're still nervous and make her take her shoes off and you carry both pairs through the house until you're safely and quietly in your room.

Now you've got her in your room, you don't know what to do. She does though, and you decide it's time you let someone else take the lead. Soldiers have experience, as all the factory girls say. And she does. She knows exactly what you need without you having to say a word and for once you let yourself enjoy it, the feel of another woman's hands on you. And breasts, by god it's about time you touched someone else's breasts and even though you can hear other girls wandering in and out of the rooming house you're not afraid because your door is locked and you've never done this in an actual bed before and you realize (as you're burying your face into the space between her neck and her chest so you won't make too much noise) that you finally feel safe.

You both get the minimum allowable amount of dressed as soon as you regain movement in your limbs. Gladys might drop in and wonder why the door is locked, or Kate might come back, triumphant in her first radio broadcast. Although you don't expect either of them tonight. Gene is back in town, and Kate has Ivan to gloat to. The cigarette you light is the best you've ever tasted. The feel of her fingers dancing patterns over your skin as you smoke makes you feel like you're being branded with happiness. When you look at your hands you see that the nail polish Kate put on for you is chipped and cracked. Nail polish never does last long when you work in a bomb factory. But it feels more significant, like when all the polish finally wears off maybe you'll be free.

You feel a moment of panic when she says she'll be coming back on another Bond tour but it's quickly overwhelmed by the fact that you're here and now and you have a beautiful soldier in your bed and you figure you'll deal with that when it comes to that. You hadn't expected to see her again; soldiers ship out, that's what they do, but when you find out she'll be back you're not scared.

It's late at night or early in the morning when you hear a soft knock on your door.

"Yeah?" you call, and then you fall out of bed when something moves beside you. It's just Teresa and the two of you must have fallen asleep some time ago. You hear a fumbling at the door as you shrug a work shirt on.

"It's locked," a quiet voice calls. It's Gladys. It's fine. You look to the bed and the mostly-dressed woman in it and toss another blanket over her. You open the door and Gladys collapses into you. She'd been leaning on the door and she just falls into you. You catch her and prop her up against a handy wall so you can shut the door before hovering in front of her. Something's happened. Gladys' face is drained and she's listless. You don't know how she managed to make it to your room, or if she tried Kate's first and got no reply. Teresa is making rustling noises from the bed, trying to find some clothes, you assume, but Gladys doesn't even turn her head.

"James," she says, and falls back into you. Teresa makes her way around the two of you and runs her hand down your arm before reaching for the door. You grab her hand with yours and mouth _see you soon?_ over Gladys' shoulder and she smiles, presses a kiss to your cheek and slips out the door. You doubt Gladys even noticed she was there.

You pull Gladys to the bed and sit her down and wipe her face with the sleeve of your shirt. Tonight you hold Gladys and you murmur soothing nothings into her hair whenever she starts shaking.

* * *

Author's note 2: Short indignant engineering history lesson – feel free to skip.

I think the biggest injustices of the war era was the chemical castration of Alan Turing, an British scientist who co-invented the bombe, an analog decoder that worked on decoding German Enigma messages. He also invented the forerunner of the modern computer, and the captcha feature that most sites use is a reversed Turing test. He had an OBE. He was a brilliant man who was stripped of his wartime accomplishments and thrown out of government work and eventually took his own life and I find it terrible that a country could treat a war hero like that just for being attracted to dudes. He has been recognized posthumously with the changing eras but he was 42 when he died and he had so much left to offer.


	10. Drawing the story

Chapter 10: I am drawing the story of how hard we tried

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Author's note: Once again, thanks to everyone reading and reviewing this. Way cheaper than therapy.

* * *

You wake up to a banging on your door. Gladys is already awake and sitting up but you're worried about the way she's just staring at the wall.

"Yeah, what is it?" you yell to the door-banger, sitting up and putting a hand on Gladys' shoulder. She doesn't flinch or turn to you. She just keeps staring at your wall. You take a peek at it yourself. It's not as interesting as all that.

"Betty, you're going to be late!" Kate yells through the door. You look at your little clock and damn, she's right. You've slept in. It takes a few seconds to remember why your limbs feel so relaxed and why you're only wearing a shirt and smalls. Kate pushes the door open slowly, like she's afraid of what she'll find. You mustn't have locked it after Teresa left; your arms were too full of a weepy Gladys waving an American government stamped letter at you.

James. Oh god, James.

Kate steps gingerly into the room and peers at Gladys.

"Is she…" she starts but trails off when you pick up the letter and hand it to her. She reads the first few lines out loud and then trails off again. You both look at Gladys but she's unresponsive.

"I think you better call Mr. Akins," you tell Kate. "Tell him we won't be in today. He'll understand." Kate nods and turns to leave, then turns back and bends to hold the stiff torso of Gladys against her. Gladys just keeps staring at the wall and you wonder how long she's been awake and staring. Kate leaves, darting a worried glance back over her shoulder.

You take your hand back from where it slid down Gladys' arm and pull some pants on. You're almost glad she's not the most observant at the moment because as understanding as Gladys is about you, you're not quite ready for her to know about last night.

But then you feel selfish because she's just lost her fiance and what with her mixed feelings and accusations of cheating and her own dalliance with Gene she must be feeling… well. You sit back down next to her and stick an arm around her shoulder. You really can't think of anything to say, but when you rub her back she curls into you and her forehead hits your collarbone and suddenly her tears are seeping straight through your thin shirt. You're surprised she has any left, but anything is better than that blank face staring at the wall.

Kate hovers in the doorway for a few moments before you notice her and beckon her in. She places a hand on Gladys' back but talks to you.

"We're cleared for the day off." _We're_? You meant for her to tell Akins that you and Gladys wouldn't be coming in. but if Kate wants to give you a hand you can't turn it down. Someone's going to have to call Gladys' parents, and see to her hotel room and you don't know how any of this is going to work. Gladys can't stay at the rooming house indefinitely, and she can't stay at the hotel if James isn't paying for it, and she doesn't want to go home but maybe that's the best place for her. You decide to call the Withams but Gladys just keeps tightening her already firm grip on you every time you try to stand. You look beseechingly at Kate and somehow you manage to transfer your broken friend into her arms.

You have half a cigarette in the common room before you make the call. It's been a long, strange twelve hours and you need time to decompress. It's hard to feel sorry for Gladys or James when you can still feel the fingers of your soldier-girl ghosting over your skin.

You leave the other half-cigarette as incentive to make the call. A reward for when you're done. The call is about as pleasant as you'd imagined, very matter-of-fact and brusque. You don't blame Gladys for trying to move out. You tell her father you'll collect her things from the hotel in the Packard at noon and drop Gladys back home. You don't want to, but there's nowhere else for her to go. When you relight the cigarette you feel slightly sick.

Kate's looking overwhelmed by the sheer volume of Gladys' anguish when you get back to your room. You tell her the plan and Gladys' head listlessly tips back to look at you. You think she's going to object, but a full two minutes later she nods and buries her head in Kate's chest. You cough and look away, but not before you see a seriously annoyed look on Kate's face. Aimed at you, not Gladys.

"Can you take her for another couple of minutes? I gotta freshen up before heading to the hotel." Kate can't drive and Gladys is incapacitated and you don't want to leave her alone so you guess you'll be packing Gladys' things on your own.

You wipe a wet cloth over your face and underarms, brush your teeth and head back. Kate's awkwardly maneuvering Gladys into a horizontal position and you assume she's asleep. You've just pulled off your crumpled shirt when Kate grabs you by the arm and turns you to face her.

"What did you do to her?" she hisses. You hope Gladys really is asleep.

"Nothing! She was like this when she came to my room last night!" You hiss back, yanking your arm back out of her grasp. She grabs you again and you back up against the dresser but she's in your face.

"I heard you! After the cavalcade! You were in here giggling and…" her voice trails off and there it is. That look of disgust you remember.

You don't know if it's because she thinks you did _that_ with Gladys or if it's because of the way Gladys is acting now, like she thinks you broke her, like she thinks that cheating on James with you has made her catatonic.

"That wasn't Gladys, Kate. I would never. Not ever." Kate steps back and her face is transformed back to the girl you actually like and are not afraid of. You can see the question hovering in the air before she asks it and you cut her off. "None of your business, Kate." She shuts her mouth and nods grimly. "Got bigger things to worry about. Can you watch her while I go get her things?" She nods and her eyes flicker down and so do yours and dammit, you didn't put your bra back on last night. Still, it's nothing she doesn't see at the factory but she's blushing; at least she's let go of your arms and is stepping out of your personal space.

"Uh… I'm… um. Sorry," she says. It comes out quietly and sounding like a question but you ignore her, pull a bra out of your dresser and haul a fresh shirt on.

Today's going to be a long day.

* * *

Author's note 2:

This has nothing to do with the story but I was just cramming spanning tree protocols and it was 1am and my 6 foot 3 male housemate starts making distressed noises so I go out and he's doing the male equivalent of standing on a chair and shrieking because there's a mouse in his bedroom so I have to man up and catch this mouse with my bare hands and then he wanted to flush it and I said that was inhumane and that's how I ended up doing a 4km walk past the murderhouse at 1am. Woot for run-on sentences!

Update: When I got back in my room my housemate had left a plate full of m&ms and pods on my bed as some sort of offering.


	11. Paint over it all

Chapter 10.5 Paint Over It All

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Author's note: Thanks to everyone reading, following and reviewing this; it totally makes my day.

This was going to be short because I have two exams today and I've got my Electronic Engineering graduation ceremony tomorrow with my Gladys-type-lady - but it got away from me.

"The low moan of the dial tone again" is from the titular song.

* * *

You're hiding out in your room again this evening. You can hear Kate singing across the hall and you can hear cross-talk from room to room but you don't feel ready to join in. On the one hand, you're feeling a kind of elation that people are beginning to notice and wonder about. And on the other hand, James is dead and Gladys is deeply, deeply affected and it seems disrespectful to be this jubilant. So you're hiding out.

It's been days since you've seen Gladys. You've showed up at the Withams' a few times; you tried to get Gladys out of that great big house but she's walled in there like it's a mausoleum, a tomb. Her tomb. Like she's going to spend the rest of her days in there. But Gladys won't come out to speak to you and by the way the maids and her mother look at you, you know they won't let you in to see her. You're halfway through a plan to break in to see her when you realize you don't even know which of what must be hundreds of rooms is hers. Which window to climb in through.

Kate's not much help either. She just spouts homilies about time healing all wounds and that it's better to have loved and lost and none of these threadbare phrases are helpful to anyone. She's sent a card, because that's what one does, and she made everyone at the factory sign it. You signed your name as far away from Kate's as you could. You don't want people pairing your names together in their minds, not now.

Several times you've found her looking at you when she thinks you can't see her and you've nearly barreled into her a few times coming out of your room to find her standing outside the door, one hand raised as though she was just about to knock. One time is a coincidence but by the third time you want to know what's going on, but you don't want to bring it up with her. You don't want to talk about that night and her accusations and assumptions or even the actuality.

What happened with Teresa was a miniature miracle, and you want to hug it to yourself for as long as you can. The only person you can imagine ever telling is Gladys but every time you call you end up listening to the low moan of the dial tone again.

So you're hiding out, smoking slowly so you won't have to go out and buy more cigarettes again tonight, holding onto the memory of the way a soldier-girl looks out of her uniform when there's a soft knock on the door.

You yank it open and Kate's on the other side, hand still raised like she was about to knock again. You leave the door open and sit on the bed. She stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment before coming to sit beside you. You move over, give her some more room.

"Betty, we need to get Gladys out of that house. I'm sure it's not good for her to be cooped up in there." Kate starts but you're pretty sure it's just a pretense, and once she's made her preliminary noises she'll be asking who was in your room that night if it wasn't Gladys. You're pretty sure she firmly believes that you and Gladys were involved in some heavy petting.

"Well, whadya expect me to do? I've been showing up there most days but I can't even get past the damn door," you tell her. You take a look at your cigarette. Dammit, down to the filter again. You are going to have to go buy another pack. You stub it out. Kate watches your fingers hungrily.

"Maybe if we send her another card, she'd know we were thinking about her and she'd want to come and see us." It's Kate's naivety that you found so sweet initially and is making you roll your eyes now.

"If that was going to work, it'd have worked the last time you sent a card, right?" Kate nods and her eyes flit to your nearly-empty cigarette packet. There's three left. You're going to get more anyway so you hand her one. She looks at you expectantly once you've lit yours and so you light hers for her.

"We have to do something, Betty. She must be so devastated." Kate's a champion smoker now, but the first time you saw her with a cigarette her face was red from coughing. You taught her how to smoke and so you suppose that sharing your cigarettes must be the price to pay. "Losing her fiance like that must have been terrible," and you can hear the judgment of Gladys' behavior with Gene behind her sentence. You were hiding out, and this was one of the reasons you were hiding out.

"Oh, hey, I forgot," you say suddenly, because you don't want to talk about this, getting to your feet and crossing to the bureau. Kate's watching you intently, you can feel her gaze on you as intensely as if she were actually touching you. You open the bureau and rifle around a moment, pulling out a bottle of lime cordial triumphantly. "Got this a while ago and I just remembered. Here." You hand her the bottle and remain standing and smoking. It's a cue for her to leave, and for once it's one she takes. She stands and looks the bottle over. It's brand new and full and it's the good stuff. You bought it a really long time ago, back when you thought… well it doesn't matter what you thought.

"Oh Bets, thank you! It's my favorite," she says.

"I know," you tell her and her face softens when she looks at you and you almost forget the way she looked at you the night James died. And that's dangerous. So you run your hand through your hair. "Well, I gotta get going. Out of Luckies." She looks at the cigarette in her hand as if she's just now realized that the cigarettes she smokes are mostly yours. Then she looks at the one in your hand.

"Would you like me to do your nails again? The paint's all chipped." She looks hopeful so you look down at your hand and you were pretty close to just scraping what was left off with your nails so you shake your head. She gives you a slightly shaky smile and leaves with her lime cordial. You leave the door open behind her. You'll be heading out soon, you're nearly down to the filter again. But you look closely at your hands, at the peeling polish and you half-consider walking across the hall and taking Kate up on her offer but you don't.

You sit back down on the bed.

You pick up your red nail polish.

And you paint over them all.


	12. I am watching your chest rise and fall

Chapter 12: I am watching your chest rise and fall

* * *

Author's note: Starting to deviate from canon because murder, and because I miss Betty and Kate being sweet to each other. Please let me know if you have any ideas or such, and thank you to everyone for reading this far!

That feel when you get the requisite 100% for your practical switching. Booyah.

* * *

Of all the things you thought would come back to haunt you, you'd managed to forget about that time where you watched Kate throw a man off a balcony. You'd forgotten about the police and their suspicions and the reported fight between the street preacher and a blonde woman, right up to the point where your door opened and Kate shot inside like a rabbit into a burrow and slammed and locked the door behind her.

She had been going to take off; to draw suspicion away from the both of you, but in the end she'd called you family and held you so close you started thinking of family as a dirty word. You'd forgotten about Ivan as soon as you saw her again. You thought you were never going to see her again, and you'd been telling yourself all afternoon that as long as her father was dead and she was safe, well that was all that mattered. She'd be able to find her own way, surely. But you hadn't believed a word of what you had told yourself. You didn't think she would be safe on her own.

Kate's peering anxiously down at the street from the window, trying to hide behind diaphanous curtains.

"What's going on?" You ask, putting down your book and striding over to the window to peer out over her shoulder. There are people on the street below, but you see nothing that should alarm Kate to this extent. You're leaning over her a little and where your shoulder rests against her back you can feel her heart pounding.

It reminds you, briefly, of one time you were out in the fields with your brothers and a little bird, a sparrow or something, smacked straight into the grain elevator. No one else had seen it and it was still alive but lying very still so you carefully picked it up put it in your breast pocket where it'd be safe and went back to the horses. You'd forgotten about it when a frightened fluttering beat against your chest. You had pulled it out gently and laid it in your palm and it had sat so so still in your open hand but its tiny little heart was beating against your palm so fast you thought it was going to explode. It didn't and your brothers watched as you looked at this tiny bird for what must have been minutes until it shook its head, got to its feet and flew off in a straight line, headed for the horizon. The lot of you watched until it flew out of view then pushed the horses back to work. You've never forgotten the feel of that crumpled ball of feathers in your hand or the rapid beat of a tiny heart.

Kate's heart is a lot bigger than that little bird's but it's going nearly as fast as you remember that bird's going. She hasn't answered but she's pulled away from the window and backed into your chest. She must be seeing Ivan tonight because although it's late in the day, her hair smells of soap rather than of chemicals. It takes a few moments before you realize she hasn't answered your question yet.

"Kate?" She still doesn't say anything but her heart seems to be beating slower now and she turns and buries her face in your neck. She's slightly too tall for this to be entirely comfortable. You reach one hand around and pat her clumsily on the back.

"Kate?" You ask again. She pulls back, makes eye contact, pulls away and sits herself down on your bed. You light a cigarette and hand it to her before lighting one for yourself, hoping it will calm her down. Her fingers are shaking when they brush yours and it takes her two tries to take the cigarette from you. You sit down, near enough to offer comfort but far enough to retain brain function. "Kate, you got me worried. What's going on?"

Kate takes a few pulls of the cigarette before replying.

"That policeman? The one who told me my father was dead?" She starts, then becomes absorbed in tobacco. She's really focused on smoking that cigarette and you're hoping it's calming her down. However, you really want to know what the hell is going on.

"The one you told to look for you at the caravan? He found you? Kate, did he follow you here?" Her eyes meet yours again and you're struck by the way her eyes are filled with fear again.

"I don't know. I think I shook him." She's smoking like smoke is more important than air, she's nearly finished her cigarette and yours is barely started. Her eyes don't leave yours though.

"Did he recognize you?" You ask. You might be able to hide out, but if he knows Marian is still around, he's going to start looking. And while this is a pretty big city, it isn't big enough to hide a redhead that looks like Kate but is really Marian.

"I don't know. Oh, Betty." She drops the finished cigarette in the ashtray and takes one of your hands. She seems to want to say something else but instead she just… looks at you. Like you know all the answers. You told her once she'd be safe here in the rooming house, no matter what she was running from. You want more than anything to have told her the truth.

"Hey, we'll figure something out," you tell her, squeezing her hand. Her look turns incredulous.

"I killed my father, Betty," she says slowly, enunciating every word like you weren't there, like you didn't see it go down.

Like you didn't see her father go down two flights of stairs the fast way.

"He had it coming. I woulda done it myself if I'd had the chance," you say, and it's true. You turned his attention from strangling his daughter by calling it to yourself. You were ready to fight him so she wouldn't have to and then in one moment she had come to your rescue even though she'd never thought of rescuing herself.

She'd lived with him for years and never fought back. As soon as he laid a hand on you, she stone-cold killed him. You tried not to feel good about it but damn, it has to mean something, doesn't it?

She's still looking at you incredulously. "I would have, Kate, and if it comes down to it, hell, that's what I'll tell this policeman of yours. Tell him I got tired of seeing him mistreat his daughter and it coulda gone either way, which one of us fell. Self-defense." Kate's worrying her lower lip with her teeth and staring at your mouth so you sigh and hand her your cigarette. She takes it automatically and you see the paper burn down half an inch before she exhales but she's still staring at your mouth. "Anyhow, how's he going to find you? All he's got is Marian Rowley, and Gladys and I are the only ones who know that's you. And I doubt she's going to do much talking these days."

Kate nods and fumblingly puts the cigarette in the ashtray before leaning forward and resting her face on your shoulder. You bring your hand up to cradle the back of her head, your fingers lost in silky red strands. She scoots closer and you told her she can't dance with you but there is no one, _no one_ she can turn to about this so you put up with this and try to ignore her hot breath ghosting its way inside your shirt where she's breathing on you and the way her hand clutching your side is probably going to leave a bruise. She's holding onto you like you're a life-raft in a sea of despair.

She only jumps and clings tighter when there's a knock on a door across the hall. It's followed by Ivan calling Kate's name. You expected her to relax once she knew it wasn't the police but if anything she's holding on tighter now and her nails are digging into the soft flesh over your rib-cage.

"It's just Ivan," you tell the top of her head. She digs her face deeper into the collar of your shirt.

"Get rid of him. Please. I can't, not tonight." Her voice is so quiet you almost ask her to repeat herself.

"You're going to have to let go of me first," you tell her gently and little by little her grip relaxes and you're able to slip away. That's the problem, being friends with factory girls. They're strong enough to keep a hold on you.

You shut the door behind you.

"Oi, lover boy, keep it down. Some of us have shifts in the morning," you tell Ivan, who is knocking again. Louder.

"Have you seen Kate? She told me to meet her here at 8. We're having dinner." He looks worried but you don't care. She told you to get rid of him and you'll have great pleasure doing so.

"Did you check the clock? You're late. She must have headed out with someone else for dinner," you tell him and you wish you didn't feel so smug at the crestfallen look on his face. "She probably just got hungry, is all. You'll see her tomorrow, what's the big deal?" He shrugs and walks back up the hall, his gait slow and somehow sad. You slip back into your room.

"He's gone." You tell Kate. She's staring out the window again and you watch her watch him walk away.

"Can I stay here tonight?" She asks without looking around. Ivan has been out of view for a few minutes at least, and you've sat back down on the bed and picked up your book again. You look up.

"Sure. Should I go sleep in your room?" You ask her because you really don't enjoy sleeping in your chair when there's a perfectly good bed across the hall. She looks at you now.

"Please don't. Please stay," she says and her eyes, dammit, those eyes.

"Sure. You had dinner?" You ask and she shakes her head. You end up putting something together downstairs because Kate's suddenly become afraid to leave your room. It's not great but it's food and she seems grateful enough.

You change into your pajamas in the washroom and spend a long time brushing your teeth and washing your face to give Kate time to change into the nightgown you'd retrieved from her room earlier. When you come back into the room she's already tucked into your bed, so you fix your chair against the wall, next to the door, and turn off the light.

Nearly two minutes later Kate calls out your name.

"Yeah," you reply, shifting the shirt you'd put behind your head.

"What are you doing over there?" she asks.

"Well, I figured you wouldn't want to be sharing a bed with a _deviant freak_ like me," you say shortly, not because you're angry but because you don't want her to know how hurt you are.

"Well, you figured wrong. Betty, get over here. I'm not kicking you out of your bed again. Not when you don't have Gladys' tub to look forward to." She's trying to keep her voice light but the memory of that bathtub makes you sigh. You miss Gladys, sure. But you miss hot water and privacy too.

"Might be better if I stayed over here," you tell her softly.

"You share with Gladys." She says, voice sounding hurt in the darkness.

"Because if I didn't I'd be sleeping on the floor most nights. Kate, it's different," you warn her.

There's a long pause before she finally says something. And the something she says makes your heart pound like a little bird's.

"I don't care. Betty. Please."

You feel your way to the bed in the darkness and switch on the lamp. Kate's right over on the far side of the bed but you make sure not to brush up against her as you slip into bed.

Hours later Kate's finally asleep and you're calming yourself by counting her breaths, watching her chest rise and fall. Your fingers are resting on her wrist and you find the rhythm of her blood pumping through her veins soothing. You're nearly asleep when she rolls over and burrows into you.

You're very nearly asleep when you hear a whispered _thank you_ brushing its way across your throat and feel a hand settle back into its death-grip on your rib-cage.

You're asleep when Kate starts crying.


	13. Like the tides of my life

Chapter 13: Like the tides of my life

* * *

Author's note: I am pretty pain-killed up so it'll be re-edited later. Thank you to everyone reading, following, reviewing and such, it makes my day.

I have a biopsy tomorrow so the next chapter might be supershort, superlate or superlong. Least it gets me out of an exam, right?

* * *

You weren't sure what woke you up initially, then you became aware of a body beside yours in the bed, covering yours in places, shaking with suppressed sobs.

You wonder how Gladys managed to sneak out of the Witham place and into the boarding house before you look down and see it's not Gladys at all, it's Kate and she's been crying for a while if the wet patch on your pajama top is any indication. Your arm, the one which is semi-trapped under Kate's body, wriggles around of its own volition until it can rest its hand on Kate's back. She looks up at you then, and the look of desperate distress on her face makes you wish you'd turned the lamp off.

You can't stand it so you push her head back to your chest with your other hand so you don't have to look at her abject sorrow any more. Both hands are on her back now, one behind her neck, the other wandering the safe expanse of a bony spinal column. She's pressed up right against you and you wish you couldn't feel quite so intently exactly where your bodies meet.

Normally this would leave you frozen but you pretend it's just Gladys. Just Gladys mourning James and somehow this makes your position bearable. You'd do this for Gladys, why not Kate?

Because Kate shifts and all the curves you never noticed on Gladys are pressed deliciously into you. You feel like such a horrible person; the poor girl is seriously worried about being found by the police and here you are noticing something she really doesn't want you noticing at any time, let alone now. You try to shift a bit further away; maintain some space and allow your brain to process anything that isn't warm, barely covered flesh but she follows you, chases you to the edge of the bed.

She needs you, you tell yourself, so you have to be there for her.

The sniffling has stopped. Kate's wiping her face on the lapel of your pajama jacket and speaks quietly.

"I'm not sorry he's dead." She says lowly, her chin resting on your shoulder, looking up at you. You look at her but she's too close so you reach for a cigarette so you have an excuse not to look at her. Her face is right there, her nose is brushing your cheek and her breath is warm on your face and her mouth is _right there_ and you've only ever felt this tempted once before but you know how that ends.

Not well.

"Yeah, me neither," you say, and pull your other arm out from underneath her torso to flick your lighter into action. You shift back so you're almost upright, leaning against the bedstead and thankfully her head slips to your stomach, making a slight detour over your breasts. She pays them no attention and remains looking up at you so you pay a great deal of attention to lighting your cigarette just so she won't see how much attention you're actually paying to her. You finally get the cigarette lit and take a deep, thankful drag. Her hand envelops yours before she takes the cigarette from you. You don't light another; not yet.

"I don't feel like a murderer, you know. Most of the time, at least. It was just something that happened. I may have wished him dead but I never wanted to kill him." This is the most she's ever talked about that night, about her father. "I used to pray, every day, that God would make me better so my father could finally stop punishing me. It wasn't until I went back with him that I realized that it wasn't because I wasn't good. It was because he could. He believed so strongly that there was something evil inside me," she pauses and hands you back your cigarette. There's little to no ash on it so you hope she hasn't ashed all over your pajamas. Ash is such a pain to wash out of your sheets. "And now I think he must have been right. Because if there isn't something evil inside me, I wouldn't have fought him. I wouldn't have killed him. And I'd be sorry he's dead." You bring the cigarette to your mouth, trying to ignore the moisture from Kate's lips.

"That's stupid, Kate. You're one of the most decent people I know. There is nothing you could have done to deserve any single one of those scars. He was your father but you don't owe anything to a man who could treat his own daughter like that. Not even mourning." Kate's hand snakes up and plucks the cigarette from your mouth. Her fingers are briefly on your lips and this, this is much more dangerous than being trapped in the cellar with a Nazi. She only takes a puff before handing it back. You tap it absently on the edge of the ashtray before bringing it back to your mouth. "You're the least evil person I think I've ever met, Kate."

"You would really tell the police you pushed him?" she asks and it takes you a few moments to answer only because one of her hands is fiddling with the collar of your pajama top.

"Of course." You told her she'd be safe. You mean to make sure of it.

"I won't let you. If it comes to that, I'll tell them what happened."

"Kate. It won't come to that." She leans up on her elbows, looking intently at you. She takes your cigarette again and stubs it out. She remains half-hovering over you.

"I wish I could, Betty," she tells you quietly.

"Could what?"

"Love you like that." And she leans in and presses a kiss to the spot next to your eye where her father hit you, where Regina hit you. And then she slowly presses her lips to the corner of your mouth. Her lips are so soft against yours and you'd almost swear your heart stopped in that long moment. She pulls back and doesn't look at you, just slides her head onto your chest, wraps an arm around your waist and doesn't say a word about the way your heart just under her ear is trying to leap its way out of your rib-cage. You feel a blush like a tide working its way up from your chest to your face. Your ears are burning.

Maybe she is a little evil, after all.


	14. And the rest of it all

Author's note: peeps be asking for new chapter but moving my left arm makes my stomach try to empty itself so just a quickie. Biopsy blues. Reviews make me flail. Don't make me flail.

Regular updates resumed as soon as my chest stops having feelings.

* * *

Chapter 14: And the rest of it all

You wake up and find Kate's already left; apparently the world outside your room no longer scares her. You're relieved but you already miss being able to protect her. Your shift doesn't start for a while so you roll back over, pleased to have your bed back to yourself, to not have to worry about your subconscious reaction to the other body that had been occupying it.

When you wake up again, Kate's sitting in the chair by the door; her gaze is fixed on you. You rub your eyes and look at your clock. You're going to have to hurry now.

"You going to hide out in here?" You ask Kate as you fling your street clothes on. She's already dressed. She nods and you grunt, grab your key and your smokes. She grabs your wrist as you're reaching for the door.

"You would really go to jail for me?" she asks quietly. You thought you covered this last night.

"Probably not jail. Show a judge your back, no one would convict me." Kate obviously hasn't thought of this.

"Oh," she says, equally quietly. "But you'd risk it? The judge not taking your word for it? He was a preacher, after all. No one else knew what he was like. Those scars could have got there any number of ways." You look at her like she's slow.

"Yeah. I'd risk it. The way I see it, you just got out. I'm not letting you go back in, Kate." She smiles at you, and her other hand sneaks into your other hand and there's something in it and it's a full pack of Lucky Strikes and that's where she must have been when you woke up and she wasn't there. She was out on the street buying you cigarettes.

You're pretty sure this is a gesture that means something else but by now you're going to have to run to catch the streetcar and you'll be lucky to make it on time. You free your hand from hers, run it through her hair.

"Thanks, Kate," you tell her. Then you run.


	15. But your bones have been my bedframe

Chapter 15: But your bones have been my bedframe

* * *

When you get home, Ivan is camped out outside Kate's door. He got off from work the same time as you but you stopped off to get a couple of apples from a friend. Kate loves apples. He scrambles to his feet when he sees you.

"Have you seen Kate? She wasn't at the factory today." He's so eager to ask his words are stumbling over each other.

"I know. I was there too," you tell him, juggling apples to get at your key.

"Well, do you know if she's alright? She's not answering her door."

You step across the hall and knock on Kate's door. No answer. You pretend to look surprised.

"We were supposed to go to dinner last night. Where is she?" He asks, pacing in front of Kate's door.

"Don't know, Ivan. Haven't seen her lately."

"She's not giving me the run-around, is she? I had enough of that from you," he runs his hand through his hair and you think, if they had children, they would have the loveliest hair. Luckily you snap out it.

"I don't know, Ivan. In case you hadn't noticed, we haven't been talking much lately." You spin a bit of bitterness into what you tell him because as far as he knows it's true. You don't want to unlock your door just in case he spots Kate, so you shove the apples into the pocket of your cardigan to free up your hands. You're not walking any more so they shouldn't bruise.

"Look, I didn't mean to make trouble with you and Kate, these things just happen," Ivan's shoved his hands into his pockets now and is looking like a contrite schoolboy caught stealing apples. You meant it when you told Kate she could do a lot worse, so you pull out an apple and throw it at him. A peace offering, of sorts. He catches it easily.

"Yeah. These things just happen," you agree.

"You see her, let her know I've been wondering how she is." Ivan says, taking a bite from the still-slightly-green apple and turning away, down the hall.

You wait a few minutes after he's out of sight to open the door and quickly close it behind you. You can't see Kate immediately and your heart does this thing where it feels like it's been dislocated but she's sitting on the floor behind the bed, not readily visible from the door. She stares at you with wide, scared eyes until you smile and then her face crinkles into an uncertain reflection. You throw her an apple, and she put up her hands to block it and it clatters to the ground. You pass her another, unbruised apple and put the dropped one on your dresser. Kate takes a bite and you light a cigarette.

"Ivan's been looking for you," you tell her as you empty apples from your pockets onto the dresser. You feel you ought to pass his message on.

"I know," she says around a mouthful of apple.

"So why are you hiding from him?" You ask. She swallows before answering.

"I can never tell him. Never. Not ever. He can never know." She's pretty fierce in her adamancy.

"So you're just going to let the boy think you went off him? Kate…" You never liked the idea of them dating, but he makes her happy in a way you don't think you ever will be able to again. There are too many sad secrets between you. One jail-able offence each, when you think about it. Her fierceness dissipates and suddenly she's smaller. She sits on the bed.

"He thinks I'm someone I'm not, Betty. He looks at me and sees someone who's not me." She's crumpled into herself again and you hate when she does that, so you stand in front of her and hand her your cigarette. She takes it absently, pulling her cardigan closed around her neck. "He sees a good preacher's daughter with a singing voice. He doesn't see the rest of me." The rest of her, you assume, means those welts on her back and the fact that her father wasn't really a good preacher.

"Well, seems to me you have a choice. Come clean, or give him the flick." At this, Kate just stares at you as though you've asked a self-contradictory question like the unstoppable force and immovable object one your youngest brother used to bug you with. As though there's no right answer out of the two options. She's immobile so long you steal your cigarette back before it smokes itself.

"Can I stay here again tonight?" She asks as if she even has to ask. As if you could ever say no to her.

"Kate, I said you'd be safe here. You'll be just as safe across the hall." Kate looks down at her apple, a single bite missing from it.

"I feel safer in here," she says quietly.

"Then I'll sleep in your room." You can't go through another night like last night again. You just can't. You thought you were moving on and you're startled when you realize you haven't thought about Teresa all day. All you've thought about all day was the inscrutable look on Kate's face as she hovered over you, the press of her lips brushing the corner of your mouth and you can't go through another night like that.

"I feel safer with you." She clarifies her previous statement. Her eyes dart up and she's blushing a little but you nod because you never could say no to her.

* * *

Author's note: Sorry this is late and short, just to put things in perspective I tried to get dressed to get some x-rays taken and threw up on my pajamas and the clothes I was trying to put on. And my bird is sulking because she can't have cuddles and if you've ever lived in a house with a disgruntled cockatoo… it's not quiet.

It's heading somewhere pretty soon though, thanks for sticking with me. Reviews totally welcome.

Obligatory Imagine Me And You mention.


	16. And your flesh has been my pillow

Chapter 16: And your flesh has been my pillow

* * *

You make dinner; it's just mashed potatoes and ground beef again but Kate has never minded your inadequacies as a cook.

"You can't hide in here forever," you tell Kate. Teresa'll be back in Toronto at some point and you'd like your room to yourself by then. "You have to go back out there sometime, while you still have a job'd be best." Kate just glumly pushes her potato into a pile.

"I should have known better. I should have taken off when I had the chance. I should have known the police would find me if I stayed." You take the plate from her, put it on the dresser.

"Yeah, well, it's too late for _should have's_, Kate. What are we going to do?"

"I could change the way I look." Kate starts hopefully. You look at her for a second. She tugs at her hair with one hand and a half-smile.

"Your hair." She wants to change her hair. It _is_ the most conspicuous thing about her, but still… "I'll call Vera," you tell her. Vera knows what to do when it comes to hair. You take the plates with you and hope no one questions why you have two when there's only one of you.

Kate's reading one of the books Gladys left in your room when you get back half an hour later. Vera certainly knows her stuff and doesn't even ask why Kate wants to change her hair color She even wrote out a full list of instructions. You leave them in your room and fill a basin from the washroom. It's early and girls are still wandering the halls, but you know that to do this at night will draw too much attention. You'll just have to rinse as best you can into a bucket.

Kate's pale and reading the instructions, as though she can't believe she's going through with this.

"Ready to turn into a canary?" You ask, and she shakes her head but hands over the instructions anyway. The stuff stinks and you light a cigarette in the hopes it will dissuade anyone from smelling it out in the hall. How you're going to explain away a blonde Kate you don't know. You put the chair in front of the bed and when Kate sits in it, you hand her the cigarette and the book before dipping your hands in white, chalky paste. You start with the roots and run through and as you rub her hair you realize with regret that you're going to miss that shade of red.

You make a mess of the floor rinsing it out twenty minutes later but you're too struck by the difference a change of hair color can make. Kate looks older and more worldly now. You feel like you've taken something important from her.

"Thank you, Betty," she says as you rub her head with a towel.

"Don't thank me till you see it," you warn her, but you're pretty pleased with yourself. She takes a look in the mirror and ends up staring at herself for a few minutes. Eventually she nods and you take the basin and the bucket to the washroom. When you return she's trimmed her hair to just below her shoulders, wastepaper basket filled with blonde hair. She's more Kate Andrews than Marian Rowley now, you figure. Even the mail her brothers send is sent to Kate Andrews. It's not a perfect disguise, but it'll do for now.

You make a coffee for the each of you but they're not great. You miss Gladys, but more specifically you miss the way Gladys makes coffee. You haven't had a decent cup in days. You figure you'll work on getting Kate out of your room tomorrow, and Gladys out of that big house the day after.

* * *

You wake up to a chemical smell and find it's from Kate's hair directly under your nose. You're lying on your back and she's nestled on top of you and one of her legs has found its way between your thighs and it's pressing into you and you need to get out of this bed right now because you can't take any more of this. But when you try to slip out from under her she makes this little whining noise in her throat and you freeze. A few minutes later, when you're absolutely sure she's asleep, you try to roll her off you so you can make your escape. She just clings tighter. You're pretty desperate to get out of there so you grab her and roll yourself on top of her and of course that's when she wakes up.

You're glad the lamp is off tonight because you can feel a blush radiating red hot from your face.

"Betty?" Kate asks, sounding confused. Your legs are still all tangled and you try to make the best out of the situation.

"I needed the washroom and I couldn't get you off of me," you say by way of explanation. Now you're on top you try to get out of the bed but she's still clinging to you pretty tenaciously. "Kate, I need you to let go of me," you say, trying to keep desperation out of your voice. You've been pretty good with your self-control the last two days but by god if she doesn't let you go you're going to do something you just know you're going to regret.

"Sorry. Bad dream" Kate says, removing her arms from where they'd been wrapped around you. You scramble backwards out of your bed and land on your rear on the floor. You pay her worried _Betty?_ no mind and scurry off to the washroom.

You return much later, turn the light on and dig in the pocket of Kate's dress for her door key. She's awake and watching you.

"Betty, what are you doing?" she asks.

"I'm sleeping in your room," you tell her, studiously avoiding looking at her.

"Um. Why?"

"Kate. I can't do this. I can't stand having you this close." You're embarrassed at how close you are to tears.

"Oh, Betty." She says, and you expected her voice to be filled with disgust but it's just… sad. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"Yeah, well, you did. So I'll be in your room if you need me." You manage to look at her right before you turn off the light and shut the door and you spend the rest of the night in Kate's bed trying to figure out exactly what that expression meant.

Or why you feel suddenly hopeful.

* * *

Author's note: I wrote this in first person, which I know is an unconventional choice, because when it comes to two-lady-romance, it's difficult to discern which she is she ("she kissed her and she kissed her back") without resorting to, "the raven-haired detective moaned as the honey-blonde medical examiner kissed her way down her throat" and "the time-travelling author roughly pulled the dark brown hair of the taller secret service agent" and if that line isn't already in some fanfiction, it totally needs to be.

Not entirely happy with this chapter but it's necessary. Thanks for reading and reviewing and following, you guys are the best!


	17. I have been waiting for sleep

Chapter 17: I have been waiting for sleep

* * *

Author's note: Supershort, I know. Thank you to everyone for all the follows and reviews. I try to reply to them all but I can't reply to guests so please let me tell you here that I appreciate every single one of your kind words.

* * *

You don't expect the latest development to happen at work, but it does. Lorna pulls you aside, mid-shift.

"Man came in asking for a Marian Rowley." She says, watching your face. "I thought the name sounded familiar."

"No, ma'am. Not familiar to me." She looks over to where Kate is awkwardly tucking her newly-blonde hair under her turban for the third time this hour. You try not to follow her gaze.

"I said I couldn't place the name. He said she might have changed her name. Said he was looking for a redhead." You swallow because you can tell she _knows_ what you said about not knowing a Marian Rowley and a letter that a crazy man sent her and jail is suddenly looming large in your future. "Said something about a terrible accident with her father." You're trying not to move anything, not any single muscle, especially not in your face. "I said I didn't know anyone that fit the description. Glad to see she's dyed her hair though." She turns to walk away.

"Mrs. Corbett," you start to ask why she's shielding Kate, and when she figured out she wasn't who she said she was.

"I've seen that girl's back for myself. If she doesn't want to be found, I won't be turning her in. Same goes for you, Miss McRae." At that she walks away and you slip back on the line next to Kate. She looks at you questioningly and you smile reassuringly.

* * *

Vera is admiring your handiwork in the cafeteria when Ivan approaches Kate.

"Kate," he says. "Haven't seen you for a few days. How've you been?" You decide he's trying to swallow his pride and admonish her in front of her friends at the same time. "Your hair looks…" He trails off and you completely understand because although you did a fair job, turning that golden hair into straw makes you feel like a butcher.

"Hi," she says back. "I felt like a change." She tries to offer a smile but it doesn't reach her eyes and he can tell.

"Dinner tonight? Or drinks at the Jewel Box?" He asks.

"I don't feel awful well, Ivan. Maybe next week." He literally scuffs the ground with his boot and walks away.

"You gone cold on the Slav?" Vera asks in her tactful way. "Plenty more boys in the sea. By which I mean the Navy." At which Vera launches into a slightly raunchy story about a Navy boy she used to know. You listen half-heartedly, pretending not to watch wounded looks from Ivan making Kate flinch from all the way across the room.

"I see what you mean about the puppy-dog looks now, Betty." She says just after the siren.

* * *

You visit Gladys after work – or at least you try to. Kate trots by your side, unwilling to go anywhere without you. You don't make it past the front door or the blank face of a serving girl. This is getting critical. But after two half-night's sleep and two shifts, you are waiting for sleep to offer some relief. Tomorrow, you tell yourself. Tomorrow the servants will let you in to see Gladys and she will be sad and slightly broken but she will be Gladys and you will - well, not fix her - but you'll put her on a route toward fixing. Today you had a reprieve, from Lorna of all people. You plan to do as much as you can with the time you have.


	18. To offer up the deep

Chapter 8: To offer up the deep

* * *

The one duty we owe to history is to rewrite it – Oscar Wilde.

* * *

You thought you'd be able to relax once you got back to the rooming house. You thought wrong. Today isn't working along those lines. The policeman has been thorough and several of the girls tell Kate he was here earlier, asking for a redhead. Luckily no one has connected her with the mysterious Marian Rowley he was asking about. No one gave her away.

You can't count on other people indefinitely, though, and you wish Gladys still had her hotel room so you could hide Kate there. You know someone's going to spill that Kate's not a natural blonde, or this guy's going to get a good look at her face and then you're done for; the both of you. Kate just smiles and says there must be thousands of redheads in the city. But soon people will start putting facts and sums together in their heads and then you're going to have to run. You think on your small savings, and it should be enough to get both of you into Saskatchewan. You've got family there, family that knows the necessities of hiding people, family that won't mind hiding you and a pretty girl for a few months. You don't want to leave Toronto, you don't want to spend your savings but you're going to have to.

But it'll be nice to go home where the land stretches flat and forever and you can watch a dog run away for days at a time, a constantly moving speck on the horizon. It'll be nice to get into that warmer weather. It'll be nice to go back to grain and a little bootlegging, even if it's not really illegal anymore. The GM factory in Regina is supposedly a munitions factory now, and the two of you already have clearance. You might have to get Kate new papers, a new name, but at least this time she's only running from the law. You'd take the law over her father any day of the week.

It'll be a relief to get away from all that water too, to know that submarines won't be able to sneak up on you in the night.

Kate follows you into your room; you shut the door behind her.

"Get your things together, Kate. We gotta move out."

"Out of the rooming house?" Her eyes are wide and dammit you hate it when she looks this innocent.

"Out of the city. Hell, out of the state. Go get your things, we'll catch a train in the morning."

She looks at you as though you've kicked her.

"Do you want to hide in here forever? Geez Kate, he's already been to VicMu and now he's come here! He's going to find you! Now go pack your things. I'll get a train schedule and call Gladys." Hopefully you can get through to Gladys, or at least leave a message. Leaving Gladys is going to be one of the hardest things about this.

You turn to leave but her hand catches your shoulder and she turns you around to face her.

"No, Betty. I've been running for too long. I'm tired. I'm not going to run any more. If he finds me, he finds me. He's not my father; the worst he can do is charge me with murder." She makes it sound like being found guilty of murder is a cake-walk; you guess it is, compared to being found by her father. "I'm not running any more, Betty," Kate says and pulls you into one of those too-close too-tight 'family' hugs.

"If he charges anyone, he charges me, you got that?" You tell Kate's hair. It still smells chemical and it feels different but you still love the feel of it against your face. "Kate, I…" You've started this sentence before and it didn't end well last time, but you _have_ to let her know. She pulls back and just looks at you. You can't read her face.

"I know, Betty. I really like you too." It's an echo through time of the last time this happened and this time you aren't going to lean in that extra inch or two. You don't know how to read what she just said. You hate not knowing.

"What does that even mean?" You finally ask.

"Betty. I don't know," she admits. "I don't know." She just pulls you back into the hug. "But I'm so glad you're here with me. For me."

You just hug her back. There's not much else you can do. You can offer up the depths of your soul but she's never going to know what to do with it.

* * *

Author's note: Another short one, but two short chapters in one day is almost like a regular update, right?

I chose Saskatchewan because Betty mentions a) prairies b) not being used to oceans (Saskatchewan is one of two land-locked states.) and c) German heritage (A lot of Saskatchewan people were German.) but mostly I chose it because Corner Gas was based there and it is another fine example of Canadian television, and I could use a paraphrased line from the theme song.

I should be getting results today. It took a month to get a stupid biopsy, I just want to know _something._ Updates might depend on what goes down but this is all mapped out and it will be finished.

Reviews totally welcome and totally make my day.


	19. I'm leaving in the morning, don't be shy

Chapter 19: I am leaving in the morning (so let's not be shy)

* * *

Author's note: I'm just going to put this here… let me know what you think *backs away slowly*

* * *

"Sometimes, you have to step outside of the person you've been and remember the person you were meant to be. The person you want to be. The person you are."

-H.G. Wells.

* * *

You thought that one time this week, just one time, you'd like to wake up without a torturous device of temptation, otherwise known as Kate, draped all over you. When you got into bed she'd been facing away from you so you'd laid down on your back, smoking quietly with the light out. Tonight she _isn't _ wrapped around you like some kind of foreign bread. Now you're lying facing her and she's backed right into you and she's holding firm to an arm that is resting over her stomach.

You've never held anyone like this except your youngest brother and Gladys.

Kate seems to be able to sense you're awake and rolls onto her back and damn if that doesn't make things all sorts of interesting. You back off as far as you can, which only ends up being arm's length because once again Kate has you in her grasp.

"Betty. You can… _touch_ me if you want to," Kate says almost under her breath. You hesitate.

"I want you to want me to, Kate. And you don't." You try to leave your hope out of that sentence, but you can feel it springing up inside you.

"I do," she says, guiding your hand to an ample breast and it feels better than you ever let yourself imagine. She's so _soft_ and _warm_ and this is probably the best thing that's ever happened to you and you have stopped breathing. You have actually stopped breathing and you can't remember how to start breathing again for a good twenty seconds.

"No. You're grateful, is all." You pull your hand back reluctantly. You want to, oh god, you want to, but not this way. You _love_ her and she, well, she just feels guilty for ruining your life.

"I am, but Betty…"

"You don't want me." You tell her firmly, ignoring the way your hand is tingling.

"I don't want Ivan either." That stings as well as confuses you. "I thought I did. I thought he was lovely but Betty, he's not what I want. I'm scared. I'm so sick of being scared, Betty." And her hand has timidly made its way up your chest and your heart is doing this thing where it's pretending your rib-cage is a prison and it's trying to make a break for it.

"If you can tell me honestly you want this," you start, and then you lower your mouth onto hers, slowly enough that she has time to move away. She doesn't move away; she moves in to meet you. She tastes like the apples you'd both had after dinner, and her lips are even softer than you remember them and then her tongue just brushes your lips and your elbows collapse, dropping you on top of her. You pull back immediately, trying to remember what you'd been saying, trying not to pant like a draft horse tugging a train. Your respiratory system is in distress and your heart is on the verge of mutiny.

"Betty. I don't know what I want." But her hand is still resting on your chest, right in the middle, over your heart, fingers splayed across the expanse of your breast.

And you know it will take every ounce of your self-control to follow through with what you say next.

"Well, until you do, _that_ doesn't happen. You got me? I won't be toyed with, Kate." Even though she can't see you, you're trying to look tough.

"That's fine, Betty. Just fine," she says. But then she nudges your nose with hers and then she's honest-to-god kissing you, about as clumsily as you'd expected and now _this_ is the best thing that's ever happened to you. She's gentler with you than anyone has ever been, cautious yet exploratory. When she pulls away from your mouth her lips cling and slowly tear away from yours. She's breathing heavily. "But I'd rather be hanged for a sheep than a lamb." You can't answer her, you just run your hand through her hair, rubbing her scalp as she rests her head on the pillow next to yours.

"I wish I knew, Betty."

"Yeah well, if wishes were horses the bottom would fall out of the racing industry," you say glibly. You're shaking, and you know she can feel it where her hand is still pressed against you. She doesn't say anything else, just presses her forehead to your cheek.


	20. How hard we tried

Chapter 20: I am drawing the story of how hard we tried.

* * *

Author's note: And here is where the angst becomes an angst-fest.

* * *

You wake up to someone knocking on a door. It's not your door, but it's close. Right across the hall, you realize when a man calls out "Kate Andrews?"

Both of you sit up. Kate makes eye contact and you both know that this is it. This is the policeman.

You wait until Kate's sitting on the bed, your dressing gown draped over her shoulders and clutched tightly around her neck before you reluctantly open your door.

"In here," you say. You wish you hadn't bleached Kate's hair now; it makes her look suspicious. He stands in the doorway and looks past you. Kate lifts one hand in a half-wave, the other keeping the dressing gown closed against her neck. "Betty McRae," you tell him, extending a hand. He ignores it and steps into your room.

"Detective Sergeant Brodie," He says by way of introduction. "You're a hard woman to track down, Marian," he continues, and she flinches at her old name. "Seems you have a lot of friends. And I see you've gone blonde since the last time I saw you. Pity." And now he turns to you. "And you fit the description of a woman seen arguing with this young woman's father the night he died. Curious." He takes a step into the room. "So, you said I could find you at the caravan, and yet I find you here under an assumed name. Also curious."

"She's been living here under that name for a while," you point out.

"Yes, and why is that?" The man asks and you can visibly see Kate swallow. You step toward Kate but she leans backwards when you reach your hand to her shoulder.

"You said my father was a good man. He wasn't. My mother helped me get away from him. She got me a job, a new name and a new life. A better life." She looks up, looks the policeman in the eyes. "He was not a good man." She tells him solidly.

"Regardless, do you know how your father, who was not a good man, ended up in my morgue?" He's not going to pussy-foot around, this man. He knows something fishy when he sees it, and this whole thing smells like cat's breath.

"You said he had a fall." Kate says. You look at her and she has her most naive face on. Good.

"And you said he was out looking for a new truck. So what, may I ask, was he doing in that alleyway if he was looking for a new truck?"

"He was looking for firewood." Kate says. You can't believe how calm she is.

"I see. And you'd been living here under a false name for some time. How is that you came to be living with him again." You can't believe it but he's actually taking out a notebook and jotting down details. You thought only policemen in movies did that.

"He told me my mother was ill." You see her jaw clench and hope he didn't see that.

"And was she?" He asks.

"Not anymore." Kate says shortly, and he looks up from his notebook, immediately gathering her meaning.

"I'm sorry for your loss. Were you angry when you found he'd lied to you?" He asks, like it's a smooth segue. You interject again, ignoring the warning growl from Kate.

"What are you trying to get at here, anyway?" you ask, standing between Kate and Detective Sargent Brodie.

"See, now, the thing is, someone saw two girls come out of that alleyway the next day. Seemed a bit shook up, like they didn't find what they were expecting. A blonde and a redhead. And I thought to myself, well, a blonde was seen fighting with him earlier that night, his daughter is a redhead and suddenly he turns up dead the next day. Now what are the odds of that?"

Kate starts to say something but you cut her off.

"He was fighting me." You chime in. Kate makes a warning noise in her throat. She wants you to stay out of it. You're not going to. "He found her here and took her away with lies and promises and when I found her he was strangling her so I drew him away and he had me trapped on the balcony so I fought back. Didn't mean to shove him off the balcony, though. Just wanted to get him away from her." The way you're talking starts off in a gallop and ends in a stroll.

Kate's hand is resting on your arm and this time you shrug her off. Detective Sargent Brodie still hasn't said anything.

"You told him earlier he'd pay for what he'd done. Sounds like premeditation to me." He says, narrowing his eyes at you.

"You knew the man, you woulda premeditated it yourself." You say, putting on a show of bravado. Premeditation doesn't sound anything like self-defense. "He was going to kill her. She was bruised for days."

"I'd be more inclined to believe you if you'd reported it." He says slowly, as though he's considering your story.

"The man had just tried to kill both of us. He'd just taunted Kate with her mother's death. It wasn't the best decision, but she was scared and upset." You realize that none of this sounds good, none of it.

"That's interfering with a police investigation, you do know that?" He looks around you at Kate.

"Yes. But I was so angry. He told me mother was ill and we needed to raise money and all that time she was already…' she trails off, then starts again stronger. "I thought it served him right, at the time. I went back the next day. I was going to report it. But he was gone, and you were so suspicious when you found me."

"So you saw this woman here kill your father, and you didn't report it?" He asks incredulously.

"She saved my life," she says softly, and her hand brushes yours.

"That may be, but I think I'll take her downtown, just the same. McRae, you said? Well, Miss McRae, I'll give you five minutes to get dressed and gather your papers and then I expect you out in the hall. Where I'll be waiting."

He leaves you alone with Kate in your room, door pulled to but not closed.

"Betty, you shouldn't have," Kate starts, but you grab her forearms and shush her.

"I said I'd do this, and I will. However this ends, I won't let you go to jail. You've done your time," you tell her. And she leans in and presses her lips against your cheek and then your mouth; two dry, closed mouth, motionless kisses.

That kiss last night, you suddenly realize, was a Judas kiss. She knew all along she was going to let you take the fall for this; but you can't blame her for that, you offered to take the rap and she obviously knew you would.

The thing is, you don't care. You're not going to go to jail, or at least, not for very long. And you're better equipped to handle jail-time than she is. But you'd rather be hanged for a sheep than a lamb. So you lean back in quickly, catch her by surprise. Your open mouth meets hers. You snag her bottom lip between your teeth; your fingers digging into the flesh of her upper arms are drawing the story of how hard you tried. You pull back and turn away.

"Call Gladys. Get her out of that house," you tell her. She's touching her lips as she nods.

And then you get dressed and gather your things. You're out the door in three minutes, and you don't look back as Detective Sargent Brodie takes you by the arm and leads you out of the rooming house.

* * *

Author's note 2: Bear with me here. As miserable as this is, there will be light at the end of the rainbow.

* * *

Not required reading: I started this when a lump was found in my breast, 6 weeks ago. There was familial homophobia coming down twice a week. So I started writing this. I just got my biopsy results and it's benign. Anything that happens from here on out is pretty much golden. So thank you to every single one of you who read this, because you will never know how much better it made me feel, and how less alone. Thank you.


	21. In each other's shadows

Chapter 21: In each other's shadows

* * *

The Detective Sergeant lets you smoke as he sits you down behind a desk in an interview room. He takes his time while flicking through your identification and clearance and national security papers. Eventually he looks up.

"You realize being found guilty of murder is going to mean a hanging, don't you," He asks you very seriously, making what he supposes is intimidating eye contact.

It's honestly something you haven't thought of yet. But he's trying to shake you so you remain firm.

"Hadn't thought on it," you say casually after taking a deep drag.

"Why not?" He actually looks intrigued.

"Because it was a matter of survival at the time. I did what I had to do. I didn't want to do it and I didn't mean to do it and I was sick when it was done, but I don't lose any more sleep over it." And if you'd actually pushed him off the balcony, this is still exactly what you'd tell him.

"And why is that?"

"Because that man is never, never going to be able to lay a hand on Kate again." At this he looks at you, scrutinizing you for a few moments.

"You care a lot about this girl, don't you?" He asks, one hand rubbing his forehead.

"Most of us Bomb Girls don't have any family close by. We make our own." You don't blush at the question. Kate is like family. She said so herself. "She's like family. You protect family. Way I see it, she's never had any real family. Maybe her mother. Maybe her brothers. But even they didn't stop what was going on. Except for her mother, getting her a new life like that. Getting her out of there. Away from him."

"Her brothers are how we tracked her down. Found it strange that the Rowley boys were sending mail to an Andrews woman. Their names were on the back of the envelope." You had wondered where he'd got the name Kate Andrews from. That was something you hadn't thought about. It was inevitable in any case.

"But you understand, don't you? Why she changed her name and was hiding from that man?" You have to make sure that he knows why Kate was living under an assumed name.

"Her father?" He asks you to specify.

"That man," you repeat firmly. "No father should treat their child like that. He lost that title the minute he did."

"And you believe that, had you not taken the action you did, he would have killed his daughter?" He's making notes. That makes you more nervous than the mention of hanging.

"Or me, or both of us. Yes." You firmly believe that not all three of you would leave that alley alive.

"Do you have any evidence to back this up?" He asks tiredly. The thumb of one hand is rubbing at an eye.

"You seen that girl's back?" He looks taken aback. "You seen the way she clutches her clothes around her neck? She'll tell you. You just ask her." You lean back and stub your cigarette out. Hanging. You will your hands not to shake.

"One more thing. Have you ever had shingles?" It's an odd question for him to ask, but you've never had shingles.

"No," you tell him. You hope he's going to elaborate but he just shuts his notebook.

"You'll need to stay in a holding cell while we check on a few details. Might be there a few days." You don't know what you expected, but this is better than you expected. You'll probably be left alone for a couple of days at least, and you could use the time to think.

"Can I buy cigarettes first?" You've only got a few left in your softpack. You don't think you can stand life in a cell without cigarettes.

"You give a guard the money, we'll get you some." He stands and leaves the room, nodding to a guard outside the door. He comes in and leads to an eight-foot cell. It's pretty primitive and it sinks in. This is your life now. It might end in hanging. You figured as a homosexual you'd end up in prison someday, but hanging was never part of your life plan. Your hands are shaking too hard to light your cigarette and the guard takes pity on you and lights it himself before leaving you alone.

You're in there all day analyzing Kate's motives over the last few days. Everything she's done, you come to realize, was to firm your love for her, to ensure that you would end up exactly where you are now. And while you didn't care before, now that hanging has been bought up, you find you're starting to care.

You have to send the guard out for two packs of cigarettes and you ask him for a book. He brings you a Bible. When you ask if he has anything else he just shrugs.

* * *

The next day Gladys visits you. The guard's eyes nearly pop out of his head. Even in mourning she's magnificent. You're ushered into another interview room; the door is left open and the guard watches you closely.

"Kate came around midday yesterday and wouldn't leave until she saw me. Betty, did you really kill her father?" She looks at you askance. She's one of very few people who know almost as much of Kate's life as you do, and the only person who knows how you feel. You just smile half-heartedly. "Oh, Betty. I won't see you hang for this. Everyone knows what that man was."

"At the factory sure, once they seen her back. But anyone else just sees a man of the cloth."

"So what happened?" Gladys is making her intense eye contact so you relate the edited story to her. "Well, that sounds like a clear case of self-defense. I'll acquire one of daddy's lawyers for you. He should be here today or tomorrow to let you know what your options are." She lowers her voice. "Are you sure you want to do this? You're covering for her, aren't you?" Your eyes flick to the guard. He doesn't seems to have heard.

"Doesn't matter, Princess," you tell her, your jaw set. It doesn't matter how hurt you are right now because it just as easily could have been you that threw that man off the balcony. She was trying to protect you, just as much as you were trying to protect her. You've noticed new scars on her skin, rope burns on her ankles. He could have killed her at any time. You're just glad you were there.

You were in it together. She'll come through for you, tell the story of her abusive father and his maddened ramblings. Even people who had seen him in the street could probably attest to his insanity. You realize you've been silent too long; Gladys' glare is boring into you.

"You would really do this?" She asks.

"It's my life, Gladys. I can do what I want with it." You're stubborn, you know, but you're not dropping her in it. Even if she did it to you first.

"It might not be your life for too much longer." Gladys tells you and your hands shake as you bring a match to your cigarette.

You'd moved to the rooming house that night through shadows, and in each other's shadows you were overlapped in the concealment of a crime. You're beginning to wish you'd ignored what Kate said and gone for the police anyway. Reporting it then would have proved, along with Kate's fresh and slightly older bruises, that he had attacked both of you.

"Teresa's back in town," Gladys tells you, cutting through your thoughts. Your head jerks up.

"You didn't tell her where I am, did you?" You ask, slight desperation in your voice.

"Of course I did. She said she might visit."

She doesn't.

Neither does Kate.

The only person who visits you is a lawyer. He sounds bored, and you're starting to get a little worried. No one's spoken to you except the guard. No one else has asked you questions about what happened. At least you have a cell to yourself.

Gladys comes in two days later only to tell you that Kate and Ivan are inseparable, and that Teresa's shipped out again. At least Kate got Gladys out of her mope, and that was all you asked her to do. It was literally the least she could do.

The man supervising your visit turns the other way so Gladys can hold you when you cry. It's against the rules, and Gladys slips a pack of cigarettes and a book into your pocket. Some days, you wish you loved her instead.

* * *

Author's note: had to do some serious research and oops, murder is punishable by hanging in this era/country. So Betty should have been more worried, really. Sorry for the misery, things are looking up very soon. Thank you for all your kind words. You're all amazing.  
Also the x-rays showed the reason behind the chronic pain so that's actually really helpful and now I got pills for up to four hours of sleep and some PT and oh man it's so good. Next chapter after the nap.


	22. Less and less tall

Chapter 22: Less and less tall

* * *

The book Gladys smuggled to you is an Agatha Christie murder mystery. Of course. Spies and espionage. The Man In The Brown Suit is a pretty good read, provided you read it between the open pages of your standard Bible. The heroine has just awoken on an island when you hear the tell-tale tread of footsteps down the hall. You slip the book out of the Bible and into the waistband of your pants at the small of your back, tucking your shirt in over it. It's the Detective Sergeant this time.

"Time for a preliminary inquiry," he tells you, like you're supposed to know what that means. He can tell by the look on your face that you obviously don't. "To see if this needs to go to a jury. We've got some new evidence. Come on." He's not giving any clues out as to whether this evidence is good or bad news for you. He takes you fairly gently by the arm and leads you out through winding hallways. You're pretty pleased that you haven't been cuffed at all, yet. You haven't even been charged, yet.

Still, this is all the warning you're given before you're led into a courtroom. You're still wearing the clothes you've been wearing since that morning you were pulled in. Your lawyer stands and helps you into a seat next to him.

"They've charged you," he whispers, "But very cautiously. This is a private, preliminary hearing."

And that's all the explanation you're given. You saw a few people in the back but not the flash of red hair you were hoping for, and your heart sinks until you remember that of course you wouldn't see it, you bleached that hair and she might be here. You don't look around though. You just keep your back straight against the chair behind you, book pressing into your spine. It keeps you grounded. No matter how this ends, you'll still get to find out what happens to Anne and Harry.

A judge walks in and everyone stands and you scramble to your feet a little late. Everyone else sits down and again you're slow, a little behind everyone else. With each moment you feel yourself shrinking, feel yourself becoming less and less tall. You don't know what to expect or what to do but it turns out you don't need to do anything and nothing happens that you expected.

The judge calls someone called Seymour Rowley to the stand. A young man walks to a stall in front and removes his hat.

Your lawyer asks the boy a few questions and as you watch you realize that yes, he is still a boy. He's very young.

"Do you have any reason to believe the accused's claim that your father would have killed either her or your sister?" Your lawyer asks. That's right. Kate's brothers. This could still go either way.

"Yes, sir."

"And what might these reasons be?"

The boy stands up and unbuttons his shirt slowly, like it hurts him. You can see why immediately.

You'd assumed Kate was the only one that got the beatings. Her father's been dead quite some time now but the flay-marks on the boy's chest still look painful. You can hear Gladys gasp from behind you and you wonder how she managed to get in here.

"And you claim your father did this to you?" Your lawyer asks. The boy re-buttons his shirt slowly. Looking closely you can see badly healed broken fingers.

"Not just to me, sir." He looks to the back of the courtroom, to where you assume his brother and maybe his sister are seated. "Anything that woman did to stop my father was justified, in my opinion, sir." The boy looks over at you. You keep your gaze fixed on your hands on the table in front of you but you feel his eyes wandering over you.

"Do you have any other information that might be relevant to the case?" Your lawyer asks. Your heart beats faster; it seems like he's had an ace up his sleeve and he's just slipping it out now, strutting at the front of the courtroom like an overpuffed bantam rooster.

"He told Marian mother had tuberculosis, to make her go with him. Told her she needed to help him raise money to get her treatment. We never told her the truth. She didn't need to know. But mother never had tuberculosis. That's not true. I can tell you where he buried her." The boy's face is stretched thin in an attempt not to crumple and you now know Kate is somewhere behind you because you know that gasp too. An angry series of whispers breaks out behind you.

"He buried her?" Your lawyer asks him, feigning surprise

"Out near South Bay, couple of months ago. Left us up in North Bay and went to find Marian." He's gazing at a fixed spot on the wall and ignoring the tears squeezing out of his eyes.

"You didn't try to stop him from tracking down your sister?"

"He wouldn't have listened to us; he'd found photos of her. Not nice ones. We were just glad he was going." He looks down, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, embarrassed to be glad that his own reprieve meant that their father would descend upon Kate in a cloud of fury and hatred. "We were gladder still to get the letters from Marian saying he was dead." He says and his green eyes meet yours and there is such a depth of thankfulness in them that you almost wish you'd killed the bastard yourself.

"Do you believe your father would have killed your sister had Miss McRae not stepped in?" Before the question is even finished the boy is nodding vigorously. Your lawyer sits down, places a hand on your shoulder. The judge asks Seymour a few questions of his own, and it's revealed that neither of the boys were present when their mother was killed but they knowingly travelled with their mother's body for several days in the trailer; that their father had said that her death was the result of sin; that they had feared for their own lives and that living with their Aunt was the best thing that had ever happened to them.

The younger boy is bought to the stand and he too removes his shirt. He hasn't had it as bad as the older brother, or even Kate, but even looking at that expanse of broken skin makes you shudder. He's too young to not cry at some of the memories bought up and you feel terrible when you realize that the fact Kate's father killed his wife is strengthening you case. It's a terrible thing to think, but if it hadn't been for the previous murder of a family member proving that the man had killed before and would probably do so again, and this young fellow crying on the stand, the judge wouldn't be looking at you quite so sympathetically.

There are a couple of other people who give testament to their father's mental state; people who had lived near their caravan in this city and heard daily the smack of belt on flesh, a lone voice raised and reveling in hellfire. Other people their father had threatened with damnation for his own personal gain. The boys' Aunt even goes to bat for you, pale and unhappy but reluctant to let a woman swing for defending her niece. Some of the things she says about that man are unforgivable, things that will haunt you late at night for years.

Kate takes the stand as well, but she never makes eye contact with you. Just cooly answers every question she is asked, telling your reworded story up until the judge asks if she knew how her mother died. Then she crumples and you wish you could go over there and hold her. You just keep looking forward as Seymour comes forward and takes her away.

The judge calls your name but he motions you to sit back down when you go to stand.

"I've read your account of the incident and with the evidence I've heard today, I will not be approving this for further trial. I am recommending your release, and recommending a ruling of death by misadventure." You don't move a muscle, not even in your face. "You're free to go, Miss McCrae." He slams his gavel and you jump. You silently thank Kate's mother because had she not been murdered by her husband, you might not be walking out of this courtroom and into the sunshine right now. You're pretty sure someone has been discretely sent to retrieve the body of Kate's mother and perform an autopsy on whatever's left of her.

Once you're outside you shake the lawyer's hand, still a little perplexed as to the day's events. Seymour and Gabrielle shyly approach and reach outstretched hands towards yours, but you ignore that and your distaste for physical demonstrations of affection with strangers and you hug them both to you at once. They're pretty stiff at first but they relax soon enough.

"Thank you." You say into the hair of the taller one. The two of them pull back, straighten their clothes.

"No, thank you," the older one tells you with an earnestness far beyond his years, finally shaking your hand. His knuckles are unusually knobbly and his fingers jut at odd angles but you pretend not to notice.

"Thank you," echoes the younger one. You reach out and brush a hand through his red hair. The Aunt approaches and shakes your hand formally. She doesn't know what to say and neither do you and it is awkward right up to the point Gladys flings herself into your arms. You lift her up and swing her around.

"Thanks for the lawyer, Glad, he was real top-notch. Couldn't have done it without him." You say once she's firmly back on the ground. She notices something odd about your shirt and pulls out your book with a tsking noise. She looks up and smiles.

"Thank Kate, she was the one that wired the boys to get down here and clear your name." And from behind Gladys comes Kate, smiling shyly.

"I'm so pleased, Betty," Kate says, and honestly, she does seem pleased. She came through for you.

"Yeah, me too," you smile back at her. The Detective Sergeant comes outside to hand over your papers and you thank him too. He eyes off Kate, shakes your hand and disappears back into the building. Kate slips her hand into yours and your misconceptions of the past few days fade away. You don't know if you're ever going to shake the feeling that she set you up, but you think you might be on your way.

* * *

Author's note: Wow, research. Do you know how hard it is to find 1940's criminal proceedings? In Canada? So if there are any discrepancies, please let me know. There's still a ways to go with this. Feedback is always welcome, and thank you to all of you awesome people reading this.


	23. Eventually

Author's note 1: Guys, I woke up from my nap by sleep-fighting my bookcase and wrote that last chapter, then the chronic-painkillers wore off and I noticed my hand hurt and looked weird and had to go to the ER at 5am with a broken hand. Chapters might take longer because it's hard to type with my left hand. Sorry.

In other news, this is not the first fight I've lost to a bookcase.

* * *

Chapter 23: Eventually

Gladys offers to drive you to the rooming house, but you're so pleased to be in the open air you tell her you'll walk. She drives off with the whole Andrews family and a few hours later you're closing your finished Agatha Christie book in a park. You throw your butts in a bin and light another cigarette for the walk home. It's not far and Gladys is waiting for you in the common room; Kate is nowhere to be seen. You assume she's with her family, or Ivan who you assume is panicking a little at having slept with a (albeit cleared) murderer. Gladys wants to take you to dinner but all you want out of life is to wash the smell of the cell and the courtroom and the murder off of yourself right now. You lead her upstairs and Kate is sitting on the floor outside your room, leaning on the door behind her. She smiles and scrambles to her feet, reminding you of Bambi and Gladys quickly excuses herself, says she'll be downstairs when the two of you are ready for dinner. You sense she wants to talk about James, but that'll have to wait until you're clean. Kate pulls you into her but you refuse to cry today; you just pull back and smile at her and unlock your door.

"Boys on their way home?" You ask as you're rifling through your clothes. The shirt you're wearing is itchy and you want something _comfortable_ to wear. You figure Gladys will tell you to change for dinner, no matter what you wear.

"Huh? Oh no, they'll be in town a few days more; they're selling the trailer," she says, leaning against your dresser, arms folded, watching you.

"Don't blame 'em." You tell her, reaching around her to pour yourself a half of the whiskey you keep on your dresser.

"Ivan," she starts, then pauses to watch the whiskey slide down your throat, and you shake your head with a grimace; you used to make better liquor yourself. "You still have a job," she blurts out next as you pour yourself another. "I told Mrs. Corbett you wouldn't be convicted and she said she'd rather not lose such a good worker."

"Thanks, Kate," you say, and you hand her what's left of your glass. She drinks it without thinking; it's midafternoon of the longest day of your life.

She follows you to the bathroom, watches as you test the temperature of the water you're filling the tub with, pretends not to watch as you get undressed and slide in with a sigh of relief. You've never felt this dirty, not even after three days camped out in the fields, covered in grass seeds and your own dried sweat and horse sweat and actual dirt, among other things. That was a clean dirty.

"Get me another, will you?" You ask and Kate nods and slips out. You've had a lot of privacy, the last couple of days, but this feels like the best you've had for a week. She brings in both the glass and the bottle. You have a drink and pull a cigarette from the pack in your shirt pocket and lie back. She lights it for you, then closes the lid of the lavatory and sits down to just watch you.

"So that's it? We're just not going to talk about it?" Kate's voice breaks through the white noise floating in your head.

"We will," you tell her, eyes closed, inhaling smoke.

"When?"

"Eventually." Rita walks in and awkwardly congratulates you on your release before using the facilities. When she leaves Kate perches herself on the side of the tub and pours you another, big wounded doe eyes fixed on your face. It's hard to ignore but you close your eyes. You open them when a hand brushes through your hair, pushing it away from your face.

"Thank you," she says, but you knock her hand away; anyone could walk in, and to prove your point someone does. Kate remains perched but it's awkward. Once the girl has left you finish yet another drink; hand it to her.

"Eventually," you tell her again.

* * *

Author's note 2:

So I got stung by a bee on my non-broken non-heavy-cast hand and typing is super difficult and itchy. I fail at life. Reviews welcome.


	24. Our theories couldn't explain it all

Chapter 24: Our theories couldn't explain it all.

* * *

Author's note: previous chapter is now a chapter. So please read that first. I spend way too much time trying to get my hand out of my cast and wondering why it hurts afterwards. I'm obviously not bright. Typing still difficult, please review.

* * *

Gladys gets sick of waiting downstairs and walks into your room just as you're getting dressed. You smile and toss her the book.

"Thanks, Princess. Kept me sane," you tell her.

"No problem." Gladys shuts the door behind herself. "Now tell me Betty, did you really kill him?"

Kate's eyes dart to yours and her mouth opens but you cut in.

"Court says I did, justifiably. That good enough for you?" You start buttoning your shirt but Gladys makes a tsking noise and starts sifting through your clothes so you leave it loose and hanging from your shoulders. She triumphantly pulls out a dress and hands it to you, fully expecting you to put it on. You do. If Gladys is buying dinner, you'll wear just about anything. She regains her train of thought, takes your whiskey from Kate and thinks for a few moments.

"No. I want you to tell me." She sits herself next to Kate on the bed as you rub your head with a towel.

"Does it really matter?" you ask, taking your whiskey back.

"Would I ask if it didn't? Slow down there, tiger," Gladys says and retrieves your whiskey. "I don't want you to disgrace yourself at the club."

"It doesn't matter to me," and your response counts for disgracing yourself at the club and her previous question. It's obviously answer enough for Gladys; you've never skirted one of her questions before. She takes a long hard look at Kate like she hardly knows her, and Kate looks down and pulls her cardigan closed around her neck.

Gladys has invited Kate's aunt and brothers to dinner and you just know daddy is paying for it; he's probably just relieved she's left the house. You haven't bought up your lawyer's fees yet; you haven't had a moment in private yet. Dinner conversation isn't awkward but it's a little uncomfortable. You can feel gratitude seeping from the pores of three people at the table, Kate's reduced to simply watching you constantly and Gladys has already made two toasts to her dead fiancé. But there's prawn cocktail and champagne and lobster and you're not in a cell so you can't bring yourself to care. You just make small talk and you surprise yourself by actually liking the two brothers. They're polite and respectful and best of all, nothing like their father. You're pretty sure, though, they'll spend the rest of their lives regretting that they weren't there to stop their father, or that they didn't stop him from hunting Kate down.

They still call her Marian and they treat her more like a revered aunt than a sister. The actual aunt is quiet; you learn she teaches in a small school in North Bay, her husband is fighting overseas and she is Kate's mother's sister.

There's strawberries and real cream, actual cream for dessert. You'll never be able to repay Gladys. She's slightly lit so you drive the Packard back to the rooming house. Gladys and Kate trail you to your room and as much as you'd longed for privacy in the tub, you're glad of their company now. Kate nips out to get some lime cordial and when she returns Gladys has you pressed against a wall, one hand palming your breast as she kisses you with a startling urgency.

"Uh, I'll just…" Kate starts, backing out of your room. You tear your mouth from Gladys' and manage to push her away from you. Kate hovers uncertainly in the doorway. Her eyes are wide.

"Gladys, what in the hell was that?" You turn to Gladys, who has a satisfied smirk on her face, one arm on the wall behind you.

"Don'tcha know a kiss when you get one?" Gladys says in return, obviously pleased with herself.

"I'm sorry, I didn't… I'll just," Kate is backing out of your room, eyes on the ground.

"No, wait, it's not…" You grab Kate by the wrist but she won't meet your eyes.

"It's not what it looks like," Gladys says, "I just thought she deserved a reward for taking the fall for you." Gladys looks at Kate expectantly. She steps back into the room, shuts the door behind her.

"Fine, I pushed him. He was attacking Betty, what else could I have done?"

"You could have visited me, Kate. Awful lonesome in a cell," you tell her quietly, wiping your mouth. Your fingers come away with Gladys' lipstick. Kate's face is stricken. "You can bunk with Kate, Glad. Want some room to myself." Everyone nods and you hand out cigarettes like candy and change the subject to how charming Kate's brothers are. You use the term lady-killers but everyone's still champagne-tipsy so you shrug off your faux-pas.

* * *

Much later you're alone and smoking and reading, the dull thuds of doors belying the occasional washroom run when there's a quiet tap on your door.

"It's open," you call, and Kate steps in.

"I really am grateful, you know. And Gladys is right, you do deserve…" she trails off.

"'S'allright, Kate. All's well that ends well, right?" She nods and darts forward.

"I wouldn't have let you hang. I telegraphed the boys right after you were taken away." And she swoops in and kisses you with an urgency that matches Gladys' but before you can really respond she's withdrawn and shut the door behind her.

You're really glad Gladys isn't staying in your room tonight, as your hand slides down your body and your book falls to the floor.


	25. Recording our history on the bedroom wal

Chapter 25: I'm recording our history now on the bedroom wall

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Author's note: hoping to get the second half of this chapter out this afternoon, off to an industry meeting. Reviews welcomed. Thank you for reading.

* * *

You spend the rest of the night packing your things. You're going to head back to Saskatchewan. Everyone here knows you killed a man, even if you didn't; you'll get an easier break back home. You leave a few notes on the dresser; Gladys, Lorna. Kate.

At least in Saskatchewan you'll be able to wash her grubby fingerprints off your heart.

Because that's how she's made your heart feel, recently. Grubby.

You get dressed even though it's dark outside; it makes you feel like you're ready to leave. You're just about packed when you shift the heavy iron bedframe from the wall, scratch the initials BB and MR into the plaster just above the skirting board. As far as you can tell your real last name is Braun; it's your grandfather's name on your father's side. It's highly unlikely that anyone will find it but no one will connect it to you and hopefully no one will think of Kate as Marian Rowley. You move the bed back with a satisfied grunt.

You came to the big city to get a job and make something of yourself. If you're going to run home with your tail between your legs, you want to leave a mark somewhere in this city other than the murder pages. You picked up a paper at the club. You're not heavily featured; there is a war on, but you're in there. Acquitted of the murder of Vernon Rowley. Acquitted, good. Murder in a sentence with your name? Not so good. At least you've still got your security clearance and a munitions factory in Regina to look forward to.

"Ivan knows." Kate's suddenly standing in your open doorway. It's very early, no one else is awake. She shuts the door behind her and surveys your room.

"And," you ask her to elaborate.

"And he says he doesn't care, that what happened just makes me more special. Betty, he wants to marry me. He wants more. He wants more than I can give him."

"And what do you want?" She takes a deep breath.

"If you're going to move out or go back to Saskatchewan, I want to go with you. If you're going to stay here, I want to stay with you. Betty…" she pauses. "You've always been more important to me than anyone. I don't know if I could stay here without you." She takes a step toward you and reaches out. You step back.

"Sure you could. You got Gladys and Vera and Marco and Ivan, you got a whole bunch of people to take care of you. Or you could head up North with the boys, when they go."

"Betty, why are you so cold? I just told you I can't spend my life without you in it." Her forehead is lined with confusion.

"You would have had to, if I'd swung." You look up briefly and her face; it feels like you just hit her and you have to qualm an urge to comfort her. Instead you just watch her face.

"I killed a man. That's against the law. Loving you is against the law too, but I do." She's awful quiet and you think she might mean it but there's something you don't trust about this sudden certainty.

"And when the police come, I'll be the one taking the fall again, Kate. Sitting in a cell for five days was not a lot of fun. Doing it for the rest of my life – I'm not doing that. Especially if you won't even come visit me."

"Betty, I haven't always done right by you." Kate starts, and you snort at her understatement.

"Stay here, marry Ivan, have a wonderful damn life Kate, but leave me out of it." You tell her, busily folding your underthings.

"Betty, I mean to do right by you now." She reaches for you but you dodge around her and slip out the door. It's too early to get cigarettes for your trip and it's just started to drizzle so you go down to the cellar and look at the boiler and the pickles and the place where you nearly ended a life and someone nearly ended yours and you remember Kate cleaning and wrapping your hand and you lean your head against a cool wall to cry.

"Betty?" you hear from behind you and you expect it to be Kate but it's Gladys; she must have seen the light. "Why is Kate crying in your room? And why have you packed all your things?" You don't turn around at her hand on your shoulder.

"Going home, Princess, where nobody knows my name."

"Oh Betts, you were cleared," she starts, but you cut her off.

"Still in all the papers. Everyone knows, Gladys. How long do you think Akins will keep me on, huh?"

"For as long as he needs good workers. Betty. Please don't do this. Come upstairs, you're wet and cold. Please." You let her lead you into the kitchen where she makes the coffee you crave. You watch her carefully but you still don't know how she makes such mediocre war-coffee taste so good.


	26. Draw the line

Chapter 26: I tried to draw the line

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Author's note: Well, things got weird, hence the delay. There is a much better chapter coming up.

* * *

You let Gladys lead you upstairs, placated by coffee. You pause outside your bedroom door; Kate's still in there but now you've had time to think you can articulate why you have to leave. You hoped she'd stopped crying but she hasn't; she's sitting on your bed, holding your dressing gown and you have to harden your heart again. You have to draw the line somewhere and it might as well be here. You took a murder charge for her, and while she helped you get out of it, she let you think for _days_ that you were going to hang. Not even a letter.

And the amount of forethought she put into putting you into a cell makes you wonder just how well you know her after all.

She doesn't look up when the two of you traipse in, but she takes a coffee from Gladys. Her shoulders are hunched in but you just shift your trunk from your bed so Gladys can sit down. You shed your damp shirt and throw it over the chair before putting a dry one on.

"Well?" Gladys asks, and it's probably aimed at both of you but you shrug and Kate retreats further into herself.

"Look, I have to leave, at least until all this blows over," you tell Gladys. "I need to get away from all these buildings, figure out who I am again."

"And you can't figure that out here?" Kate asks, then buries her face into your dressing gown. Her shoulders are shaking again. "And I can't go with you?" Her voice is muffled by the cloth but you understand. Gladys looks intently at you so you sit heavily on the chair and just sip your coffee until you've lined your words up in an order that makes sense. The coffee's good and you revel in it before you can reply.

"Kate. This isn't healthy. None of this is healthy. I would have hanged for you, and now you feel guilty. I don't want to go, but I think it's better if I do."

"Please don't go Betty," Gladys starts and goes through the tired list of reasons why you should stay. You don't pay much attention until she grabs your hand. "Betty, you can't just give up. You're stronger than this. You are." But all you can think about is days of click-clacking across open plains, watching Canada fly past the window of a train car. But you understand what she means, and you don't mean to give up.

"Three days. I'll give it three days." You tell Gladys decisively. Three days of sideways glances and suspicion. You can finish out the week at the factory, make it real easy for the pay office.

You have to draw the line somewhere and now you're drawing it here.


	27. Expectations

Chapter 27: Expectations

* * *

Author's note: Sorry all the chapters are so short...

* * *

You'd expected suspicion and frightened, disgusted look from everyone on the streetcar, but you don't get any of those things. You're just another working girl in the city.

You'd expected the same thing at the factory. There are catcalls and wolf-whistles and then the sharp blow of an actual whistle and a stern glare across the floor from Lorna. You didn't expect that at all, and you incline your head to show thanks. She nods in reply and asks you to wait a minute in the change rooms and you're left waiting for the other shoe to drop and crush you beneath it. She waits until all the Blue shift has left, Kate and Gladys shooting you concerned looks on their way out, before shaking out a newspaper dramatically for your benefit.

"Acquitted, Betty?" She asks, thumbing through.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I hope you gave as good as she got," she says, refolding the paper. She tucks some of your hair under your turban. "This ever happens again, you won't have a job to come back to, no matter if you're acquitted." You nod dumbly, mouth hanging open. She leaves you in the change room and it takes a few minutes to compose yourself and you're glad you took those minutes because going back out there is like running a gauntlet.

Help comes from an unexpected quarter. Ivan makes a stand for you. He doesn't last very long, but then, he never did. Luckily Gladys picks up where he left off and she's backed up by Harold Akins, who barks from the safety of the stairwell about carelessness and factory explosions and it makes people remember that yes, they are handling explosives and suddenly it's very calm. And the line, just like that, returns to normal and you're back to being something larger than yourself, part of a line producing bombs to destroy the enemy of half the world.

You spend a while cleaning up after the girls on the line before heading to the cafeteria. You'd expected the powder-keg to blow up again but somehow (you suspect a smug Gladys and an even smugger Vera to have something to do with this) your arrival barely causes a flicker of interest. Your table is unusually crowded and a few questions are asked but they're asked out of interest, not out of spite and you find yourself not minding as much as you thought you would. Ivan comes and shakes your hand. You don't know exactly how much he knows, but you think maybe he would have done the same. He shoots wounded looks at Kate, and she shoots wounded looks at you and the sheer idiocy of the situation makes you leave half your lunch and go finish your Luckies.

Gladys follows you out and steals your smoke.

"Not as bad as you thought it'd be, is it?" she asks triumphantly. You shake your head and tug your cigarette back from her fingers.

"Yeah, who'd you have to shoot to manage that?"

"Betty! I'm shocked at the implication!" But her smile belies the fact that she had very much to do with the changed attitude in the factory. "So you'll stay?" She says, looking at you expectantly. She's family; you do what you have to for family.

"Said three days, didn't I?" You ask, mostly to put up a tough front. She just smiles, tucks her hand into your elbow and pulls a cigarette from your pack.


	28. The door opens, the room winces

Chapter 28: The door opens, the room winces

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Author's note: Felt bad about all the short chapters so here's something you might have been waiting for. Reviews welcome and guys, thanks for sticking with me. Hands still not working.

* * *

You've been avoiding Kate as much as you can, which isn't much when you work the same shift at the same factory and live right across the hall from each other. But you lock your door at night and pretend not to hear her knocking. You use Gladys as a buffer on the line, and Vera and Ivan as buffers during lunch. It's the end of the third day you'd agreed to; a Friday, and you're smoking and staring at the trunk you hadn't bothered to unpack yet when someone starts pounding on your door. You don't want to attract any more attention; most of the week you felt phantom eyes on you but wherever you turned no one was looking. You think you might be going mad.

It's Kate at the door, of course.

"The boys are going back up to North Bay tonight, and Betty, if you're not going to stay here I'm not either. I need to know." She's determined, her jaw is tight and her eyes… those eyes.

"Might stick around a bit longer." You say, casually exhaling smoke over her shoulder, and you have never been so convinced of her sincerity as you are when you watch the hurt and confusion in those eyes turn into something close to pure delight. She goes to hug you but you broaden your shoulders almost unconsciously so she steps back and looks awkwardly at her feet.

"I'm so glad. I never meant to ruin your life."

"We all do a lot of things we don't mean." You tell her, thinking of kisses in the dark, of Ivan and Teresa, of Gene and James, of betrayals. She still looks like she wants to hug you, so you relent, drop your shoulders and she knows you well enough to take that as permission. Her face brightens more than you thought possible. She rushes you and the air rushes out of your lungs with the sudden pressure on your rib cage. It doesn't seem like she's going to let go any time soon, and it seems like she's been waiting awhile for this so you rest your hands on her back. When she pulls back her eyes are glistening.

"Well, this calls for a celebration!" she says, and ducks out the door, brushing past Gladys who is on her way in. She has a bottle of whiskey, _good_ whiskey, and a bottle of champagne. She raises an eyebrow at you.

"I guess you're sticking around then?" She asks, pouring you a finger of whiskey, dumping the bottles on the bureau. She pours another two as she waits expectantly. You nod and sip, you right hand fumbling at your pocket for your pack of cigarettes. Kate comes back in, lugging the record player and dropping it as lightly as she can on your only chair. She takes a drink and a cigarette and her smile threatens to split her face. You slip a record on and lean against a wall, watching Kate and Gladys dance. You're the first to notice Ivan standing at the open door, looking in forlornly. You make eye contact with Kate and nod your head toward where Ivan is waiting. She slips away from Gladys and doesn't return for a good half hour, pale and tear-streaked but smiling.

Gladys has just popped out for more cigarettes, being in the most presentable condition of the two of you. Most of the girls are out; it's Friday night after all, they're off to find soldiers or out with factory boys. You're lying on the bed, just listening to the music and sipping at whiskey. You're still not sure that staying in Toronto is the right thing to do. The rooming house is quiet and Billie's crooning has just started to make you feel very alone when Kate peers in past the open door. You beckon her in and she shuts the door behind her and you start feeling nervous.

Kate sits on the bed near your waist and takes your drink.

"We broke up," she tells you very matter-of-factly and then drains your glass, placing it on the bedside table. She plucks your last cigarette from your fingers, takes a drag before stubbing it out carefully in the ashtray. She runs one hand through your hair and settles her hand so it's cradling the back of your neck and she leans in. You see it coming this time. You don't close your eyes.

She kisses you; you let her because you want to see how much she wants the guilt-free solace she craves. She wants it pretty badly, as far as you can tell. Then she collapses on top of you and her thigh slips between yours and a moan that's decidedly not yours fills your mouth and you concede you may have been wrong about her motives. She shifts against you and you're finding it very difficult to think because her other hand is tugging your shirt from your pants, and then it's inside your shirt, working its way up. And somehow your hands are pulling ineffectively at her dress until she sits back and starts unzipping it herself.

This wasn't how you saw your evening going and right now? Right now you're very glad you decided to stay.

And then Gladys returns, Gladys of the terrible timing and as the door opens the room winces and Kate freezes on top of you and Gladys asks in an amused tone if she's interrupting anything and while you tell her no Kate tells her yes and you're actually a little relieved Gladys interrupted because last time this happened it went too fast and Teresa, Teresa –you haven't heard from her and that still stings so you tell Gladys she is free to stay over in your room and Kate rolls off of you and tugs her zipper up and her lower lip trembles but this is going so so fast and you know, from the factory, that things that go fast don't always end well - there are explosions and people get hurt. You don't want that to happen again. And you don't want to admit it, but you're scared. Not Nazi-submarine-invasion scared, but scared nonetheless.

Since Pearl Harbor you've not dared to hope that she would ever feel the same way you did, and finding you might be wrong is scarier than being right. Gladys can see you're incapacitated and lights a cigarette for you. She finally uncorks the slightly-warm champagne and the three of you toast Toronto, acquittal, James and everything else you can think of.

When you're tucked in with Gladys she apologizes for her indiscretion but you tell her it's fine because you're not ready for this to be real. This is a dream you've been saving and you're not quite ready for it to come true yet.


	29. Falling is like this

Chapter 29: Love is like falling; falling is like this.

* * *

Author's note: Sorry about the delay. Haven't seen the finale yet, even. Thanks for all the follows and kindly-worded reviews - you rock my world.

* * *

Gladys is using you as a pillow when you wake up; you've found she favors the part of your chest between the shoulder and the breast. It sometimes means drool in your armpit but right now Kate is watching you wake up and register that she is watching you. She's in your chair, head resting on her hands.

"Betty, we need to talk." You've been putting this off for as long as you could but now you suppose you can't any longer.

"I know. You can't keep coming on to me." Well, you'd told her she'd have to make a decision first. Then you remember that she's broken up with Ivan.

"You said I couldn't until I knew what I wanted. Betty. It's you." Her chin fits so perfectly into the cradle of her hands. She doesn't make a move toward you and you find yourself relieved.

You don't want to doubt her but you do. Gladys is stirring now; your heart beating at that rate under her head is probably the cause. Kate still doesn't move, those green eyes fixed on yours. You feel much too vulnerable, lying there in your pajamas so you shift Gladys' head and sit up under the guise of having a cigarette. Kate flicks the lighter for you and puts it back on the nightstand. Gladys rolls over to face the wall. You're pretty sure she's awake but you don't care. It's Gladys. Gladys hired the lawyer that saved your life. She can listen in to anything she wants to.

"You sound pretty sure of yourself." You tell her, looking at the window. "What changed your mind?"

"Ivan didn't want me to sing in Tangiers any more. Or in church - to be specific, Leon's church. I said God loves all his churches just the same, but he said…" she trails off. "And then he said I couldn't visit you, that it'd look suspicious and they'd start asking me questions and I listened to him because he sounded like he knew better than me."

"And then I saw you sitting there, in the courtroom, and I realized that no one, no one ever, is going to want to save me as much as you did. You knew what you were doing, you knew that at any point you could tell the truth and I was staring at you, sitting so stiffly, and you weren't going to bend or break, because you…" and Kate pauses here, looks down briefly, before making the most meaningful eye contact you've ever had. Much more startling than the look of recognition in Teresa's eyes. "You love me." She finishes softly, questioningly. "You loved me," she says, more certainly.

"I had a book stuck down the back of my shirt, is all." You tell her.

"And I realized what I'd done. I've never hurt like that before, when Gladys told me you might hang," she chokes on the word 'hang', swallows and she's determined to have her say because despite a cracking voice she continues. "And I knew, Betty. I knew."

"Knew what?" You ask, as casually as you can, willing your hands not to shake. She comes towards you then, sits beside you on the bed and takes your hands, resting your cigarette on the ashtray's rim.

"That I did. Love you like that, I mean. Gladys is family. Ivan is family. But you're... you're my Betty. You can't be family because family doesn't feel like this." For the first time in what feels like days she's not in your personal space.

"Like what?" You ask, slightly stunned.

"Like this," Kate says, and rests one of your hands on her chest where her heart is beating in double time with yours. You'd never known, in all this time, what you had done to her heartbeat. And she's looking at you that way she used to, before you'd kissed her that first time. Like you'd saved her. And now you guess you have.

* * *

Author's note 2 (or why this is so late): so I went up a painkiller grade and back to 12 hour contact days with 'awkward and pathetic typing' and thought I was fine until someone told me I had spent some time dancing with a two foot bear and telling everyone who asked that I broke my hand on their mother. So those aren't for outside days but everything is pretty nice when it's fuzzy.

This isn't finished yet. It will be. It already has 2 epilogues. Don't worry, this is getting done.


	30. Paraphrase a book written 3500 years ago

Chapter 30: Paraphrase a book written 3500 years ago

* * *

Author's note: cast off, thumb disabled but rest of hand OK. Stole a line from the show. Feedback welcomed, and thank you for reading. Wow, this got Biblical. So much processing.  
Title from Macklemore's song 'Same Love'.

* * *

You might doubt Kate but you can't doubt something as intrinsic as her heartbeat.

Gladys chooses this moment to sit up and reach around you for the lonely cigarette.

"It's about time, Kate," Gladys says between puffs. And it is, really. She's been playing this cat-and-mouse game with you for weeks now. She's been kissing you and withdrawing, setting you up and getting you out of her own set-up and you're still so confused. But there's her heartbeat, there, right under your palm, and it's the first thing she's done that you can believe in.

You don't know if you should but you trust her heart. You're pretty sure it was in the right place, anyhow. But you don't see how she went from thinking you were disgusting to straddling you on your bed last night. She has beliefs. You read the Bible, once or twice. You're almost certain the book Kate holds in the highest regard has a thing or two to say about this.

"And what does God have to say about this?" You ask her and you swear you can actually feel her heart skip a beat.

"I don't believe God wants us, any of us, to go through life alone," she says, convincingly. "The Bible says a lot of things, Betty. Honor your mother and your father. Thou shalt not kill."

"And you'd rather be hanged for a sheep than a lamb. I get it. You're already damned, why not…" Kate cuts you off abruptly, angrily.

"No! I'm trying to say…" she pauses, trying to think how to word what she's trying to tell you. "We ate lobster the other night, didn't we? And you teach men at the factory, don't you?" You nod dumbly. "Both abominations in the eyes of the Lord." And you nod, still not sure what she's trying to say. "We don't stone a man for working Sundays, Betty." And you nod again, not sure what you're supposed to be understanding. Gladys sighs behind you.

"What she's saying is society picks and chooses from Biblical laws. Am I right?" This time Kate nods. You take your cigarette back from Gladys and she takes another from your pack. You find comfort where her shoulder rests between your shoulder blades. "And sometimes understanding the spirit in which the laws were made is more important than following them." Kate opens her mouth as if to argue, then nods again.

"Leon said, he told me, something based in love is a delight to the eyes of the Lord. Jesus told us to love each other. That's about all he said. And Betty, it doesn't… it doesn't…" She trails off and looks away. Her hand falls away from yours, her heartbeat steadier under your hand. You let yours drop back to your lap reluctantly. "It's not disgusting. You're not disgusting and I'm sorry I called you a deviant. It was such a shock, finding out you'd been thinking about me like that. I was scared and I was wrong." She looks back at you and you curl your hand around hers where it's balling up your bed sheet.

"I did nearly the same thing, first girl that kissed me," you tell her quietly, and it's true. You were so scared of being found out that you hadn't thought about the fact that she'd kissed you because she wanted to kiss you and you'd hurt her feeling until an hour later. You found her quickly and made it up to her in the best possible way.

"Carol and I practiced kissing once," Gladys chimes in, and you both turn to stare at her. "James was much better. He didn't burst into scandalized giggling every two minutes." And her face clouds and you remember you haven't had that talk with Gladys about James and Gene and war and death yet.

"We're fine, aren't we, Betty? You do understand, don't you?" Kate asks but you shake your head. She looks panicked until you clarify that it's the latter rather than the former the no signifies.

"Don't understand how you can justify it, Kate. It's there in black and white, in that book you read." She sighs and pulls her hand from yours.

"Come to Leon's church with me tomorrow. He's better at explaining these things that I am." You nod and stub out your cigarette before nudging Gladys aside so you can lie back down. It's one of your days off and you think you deserve some extra shut-eye after that heavy week. Gladys lies back down and after a moment's hesitation Kate joins the two of you. There's not much room but the last time the three of you were like this you'd just rescued Kate and this feels like you've come full circle and the peace that comes from that thought lulls you back to sleep.


	31. Back, back, back

Chapter 31: Back back back

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Author's note: Teresa is back! Feedback welcome. Thanks for reading.

* * *

You have to dig your way out from under Gladys' and Kate's limbs to answer the door a few hours later.

"Uh. Hi." You tell Teresa, out of uniform for once, standing at your door. You look behind you where Kate and Gladys in their night things are cuddled together in your bed and duck across the hall to Kate's empty room, grabbing Teresa by the wrist on your way past.

"Hi," she says back, leaning in to kiss you. You turn your face and she gets your cheek instead. She smiles quizzically. "Cooled down, have we?"

"Some time in the hoosegow will do that to you, yeah." You tell her, stepping backwards and sitting on Kate's chair.

"You're mad because I didn't visit? Oh, Betty. It's not seemly for a soldier to visit inmates. You knew coming into this that we had to keep this quiet." Teresa perches comfortably on Kate's bed and you just want her to leave. A week ago you'd have been delighted to see her. Now you'd rather go back to your room and kick Kate out and talk, really talk, to Gladys about James. "So, why are we in here? You have a party without me?" You shrug noncommittally. Her face falls.

"Just Gladys and Kate." You look down and realize that despite it being past mid-morning you're still in pajamas.

"Good." She snags her hand in the lapel of your jacket and tugs you forward.

"Wait," you say, trying to will away memories of a night a few weeks ago. She releases your collar, pats it down against your collarbone.

"She sunk her claws back into you?" Teresa asks. "That's… not unexpected."

"It's not like that," you tell her quickly.

"I read the papers, you know. You killed her father for her. I should have known better than to come back here." She sounds disappointed rather than sad, and that makes you feel a little less bad. A little.

"You probably have a girl in every port though, right?" But she gives a rigid half-smile and stands, brushing her skirt down over her hips. And at that moment Kate rushes into her room and Teresa brushes right past her, out of the room and down the hall.

"Was that the Bond girl?" Kate asks, staring out the door. You nod.

"Teresa?" asks Gladys from the doorway and you realize she'd noticed, that night James had died, that she'd been there. You'd hoped it hadn't registered but somehow it had. You nod and Kate's face shows confusion then comprehension.

"So it really wasn't you?" Kate asks Gladys.

"It wasn't me that did what, Kate?" Gladys asks, leaning against the doorway and lighting a cigarette. Even after waking up after a night of drinking she looks elegant.

"That I overheard that night." You don't want to start talking about that night because you don't want Gladys to relapse into mourning again. And a little bit because you don't want to talk about Teresa, and how you know she won't be dropping by the factory or the rooming house the next time she's in Toronto. But Gladys seems focused on Kate's question.

"No, Betty and I have never… although I did catch her by surprise a couple of nights ago, that was purely for your benefit." She swans past Kate and sits across from you on the bed.

"But you were sleeping in Betty's room almost every night, Gladys," Kate states plaintively.

"She lost her best friend, Kate, in terrible circumstances. I did what I could." Guilt flashes in Kate's eyes before she looks away again. "I don't have a problem with who she is. She's loyal to a fault, she's protective, she's responsible and she happens to like ladies rather than men. Why should that bother me?"

"It bothers most people," you tell Gladys.

"It's never bothered me," Gladys replies, and Gladys doesn't lie to you. "Teresa?"

"She won't be back." You take her cigarette and she puts a hand on your knee. Kate still looks confused.

"Teresa?" she asks. You nod, unable to meet her eyes. She nods back and backs out of her room. Gladys motions you to follow her, but you don't.

"James?" You ask Gladys. And she's finally ready to talk about him, and you're finally ready to listen. You join her on the bed. When Kate comes back to get dressed Gladys is cried out and Kate just looks confused. You mouth James' name over Gladys' head and she nods again before pulling on a pink dress. It looks better on her now she's blonde. Then she leaves without a word.

You just keep holding Gladys. You need a bit more time before you can deal with anything else today.


	32. The greatest of these is love

Chapter 32: The greatest of these is love

* * *

Author's note: This felt way more comfortable at Tangiers than in a church. Thanks for reading, reviews welcome.

* * *

You walk Gladys back to the Witham place, then finger your pocketbook in your bag. You have enough money for a few drinks at Tangiers, and if it's too early to drink, then you guess you'll dance.

Leon's there, sitting in a bar stool leaning against the bar. You consider just walking away, but you want some answers. Tangiers is a better place to ask those types of questions than in a church, anyhow.

"Leon," you say, slipping easily onto a bar stool beside him.

"Betty," he replies, holding two fingers up to the barkeep. "Heard the good news. Congratulations."

"I didn't murder him," you feel you have to tell him. "An accident, is all."

"So I heard from our mutual friend." And just like that a whiskey on the rocks is sitting in front of you, another in front of Leon so you clink your glass to his and take a deep draught.

"Got to talk to you about her," you tell him, and he nods sagely.

"Heard about that too."

"Heard you were telling her the Bible says it ain't a sin." You're hoping you're being cryptic enough that no one nearby who could overhear will be able to tell what you're talking about. Leon understands you're not talking about murder though.

"Know how many laws there are in that Old Testament?" He asks, and you shake your head, sipping your drink. Leon crunches his ice as he considers how to continue. "A whole bunch," he says eventually. "Know how many we follow of all that whole bunch?" He asks, and again you shake your head. "The ones that are still relatable to life three thousand years later. I don't happen to see why a sentence here or there should get by when another doesn't." You look confused so he sets his drink down with a sigh.

"Way I see it, no one could follow all those laws God made, so he sent his Son with two more basic rules: Love the Lord your God and love your neighbor. You love your neighbor, you're not going to hurt him, see? So there go all the laws about jealousy and murder and theft and all manner of horrible things people do to one another. But the way I see it, God wants us to love each other, Betty. And when I look at you, I don't see a sinner. I see a person with a whole lot of love."

"Even if it's for…" you trail off, but Leon nods anyway.

"The greatest of these is love. Love is a gift, Betty. Greater love hath no man than this; that a man would lay down his life for a friend. Think that fits you to a tee." You meet his eyes and he nods. He knows. "That's not something I can condemn." He says. "Join me on piano?" You're startled by the change of topic but you follow him to the stage. You've tinkered sometimes but you've never got the knack of using both hands at once. Luckily the club is almost empty. He starts out with 'Let's call the whole thing off'. You're about halfway through when a hand rests on your shoulder and a familiar voice starts singing along. You don't turn around but Leon grins sideways at you and you grin back at him, and damn, black preachers are just about the best kind of preachers there are.

He excuses himself and heads back to the bar. Kate slides next to you on the piano stool.

"Was hoping I'd find you here," Kate tells you in the kind of tone that tells that she's been looking for you. You just play a series of scales, rather badly. Along with knitting, piano was one thing you never had the patience for. "You talk to Leon?" She asks and you just nod. "Gladys get home in one piece?" She asks and you just nod again. "Teresa's gone?" She asks and as much as she's trying to ask in the same casual tone of voice there's a quaver that wasn't there for the previous two questions. You nod again and her hand glides over yours to guide your fingers over the keys.

When Leon comes back with three drinks you scramble to your feet and let him sit next to Kate. They talk and talk about the depth of tone in certain keys so once you've drained your glass you make your goodbyes and slip out onto the sunset street. You have a new appreciation for fresh air and you take advantage of it all the way back to the rooming house.


	33. Patchwork of People

Chapter 33: Patchwork of people

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Author's note: Sorry guys, brutal week. Have a good chapter coming soon.

* * *

You play a couple of hands in the common room before heading back out later that night. You're glad you did; it confirms that your paranoia is just that: paranoia. The girls do treat you a bit differently but it's with respect rather than disdain so you can live with that. You leave with a lighter purse but with a few drinks under your belt; that is, if you were wearing a belt, that's where they'd be. But you're not, you're wearing a green dress.

You don't have any plans or anyone to meet so you head back to Tangiers. Ivan's lounging against a pillar. You almost turn around and walk away but instead you square your shoulders and order a beer before joining Ivan. He barely raises his head at your approach.

"How you doing?" You ask with some genuine concern. He looks pretty rough.

"I wanted to marry her, Betty. How do you think I'm doing?" There's not much you can say to that so you just shrug and drink your beer.

"I'm not a bad boyfriend, am I?" He asks suddenly, meeting your eyes. You shake your head.

"You weren't," you tell him, and you mean it. Your reasons for dating him were complicated, but when he wasn't trying to kiss you, you enjoyed being around him.

"Then why am I back here again?" He asks, voice strained.

"Kate doesn't appreciate being told her friends aren't good enough, Ivan," you tell him, hoping he'll figure it out without you having to spell it out further.

"That's not what I was trying to say." He's finished his beer so you push yours over to him. He needs it more than you do. You're glad you've already had a few drinks though. You can't imagine having this conversation sober.

"No, but it's what she heard," you tell him. Kate cares more about her friends because her family wasn't great and if Ivan doesn't understand that, it's probably about time Kate broke it off with him.

"I guess I don't understand how Leon fits into her life." He sighs dramatically and you roll your eyes just as dramatically.

"He found her when she was lost. I don't think anyone else could have. He's a good man, Ivan."

"He might be, doesn't mean I have to like her singing at his church."

"You sound awful prejudiced, Ivan."

"Well then, maybe I am. Doesn't mean I'm wrong." He says staunchly and you sigh, wishing you had another beer. You pat him on the shoulder and head to the bar. Marco joins you. He has his hands in his pockets and you wish you had pockets to keep your hands in too.

"I know how it feels, being accused of something you didn't do." He tells you, and you think of locker searches and his face, bruised.

"Thing is, I did do it," you tell him with a half smile. This is about him, not you.

"Yeah, you didn't mean to though, right? So…" He hands you a beer. "Must feel pretty nice, being out again."

"Yeah," you tell him and his face darkens and you remember Gladys saying something about an internment camp and his father so you rest your hand on his forearm. "Nothing lasts forever," you tell him. He nods but his mood has soured. You stand elbow to elbow with him and wonder why you bothered coming out at all tonight.

Then you see a familiar face in a crowded room and suddenly, just like that, your outlook for the night has changed. Kate's smiling at you from across the way and then she's up on stage and she's singing and it's like it's just for you. The rest of the club fades into the background as she smiles, mid-song, straight at you. You sense rather than hear Ivan stumble forward and you manage to hold him back when he surges toward the stage, arms swinging. His fist catches you on the side of your face and Marco pulls him back and throws him up the stairs. You go after him, rubbing your jaw, uncertain of what just happened.

"It's not right, you know?" He tells you, sitting on the top step.

"Leon's married, if that's what you mean." He's silent a while, processing new information.

"I don't get it, Betty. I just don't understand."

"Way I see it, this place is a patchwork of people. You don't have to understand it, you just have to live with it. You like Marco well enough, don't you? Even if he's Italian?" Ivan nods. "And you know that's something he can't help?" Ivan nods again. "Well, what's the problem with Leon?"

"I don't like the way she looks at him." He says finally. "Don't have a problem with who he is, just don't like the way she looks at him."

"Maybe you don't get to comment on the way she looks at people anymore." You tell him, and it's a low blow but you're pretty sure he just tried to attack a man much, much larger than him.

"She looks at you like you hung the moon, Betts." And he lifts his swaying head and fixes another puppy-dog look at you. "She's never looked at me like that."

"Yeah, well, you never killed a man for her," you say flippantly. He nods sagely. "Get up, I'll walk you home." You pull him to his feet and he sways unsteadily all the way back to his apartment, leaning into your shoulder. He makes a move toward a goodnight kiss but you became adept at dodging them when you were dating him.

Tangiers is packed when you get back. Marco looks up from where he's chatting to some brunette and you nod to let him know you're fine. Kate's disappeared but Leon is still on the stage. You get a beer along with some ice in a small towel to put against your jaw. Barkeep saw that punch, appreciates you walking him out of the club. You're leaning against the bar, alternating between holding ice to your face and drinking beer when a hand takes the ice from your hand and another hand runs along your face. It's Kate and she examines your jawline critically.

"You'll be fine in the morning. You gotta learn to duck, Betty." You duck your head at that, moving it out of her hand. You may be in Tangiers but there's still a level of secrecy to be adhered to. The band switches to swing and Kate takes your beer, drains it in one gulp and drags you to your feet. You're dancing before you realize it, face half-obscured by blonde curls. Kate's humming along under her breath but you no longer find that irritating. You go to say something but she pulls back and smiles.

"You told me to find someone else to dance with, but Betty, I don't care if I never dance with anyone else again," she tells you and your knees melt so you grip her tighter and luckily she has strong enough knees to support the two of you.

"Best news I've heard all year." You tell her, when you have breath enough to breathe and speak all at the same time. And for once you feel safe enough to dance the night away.


	34. Tesla Girls

Chapter 34: Tesla girls

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Kate walks you home, her arm tucked into the crook of yours. No one you pass seems to think anything of it but you're intensely aware of how different it feels to walking with Gladys and you expect guilt to be written on your face, ready to be read by all the passersbys that aren't giving you a second glance. Once you're in the rooming house she moves her hand down your arm until she's holding your hand while your other hand fumbles in your bag for your key.

"You look nice tonight, Betty," she says, once you've closed the door behind her. "Pity about your chin." And she steps forward and tilts it to the light. You're very aware of the soft fingertips sliding up your jaw to rest near your ears. Then she slips her arms around you and rests her head against yours. "You've got to stop taking punches for me." She says quietly, the words brushing your ear and making you shiver.

"Think that one was aimed at Leon, actually," you tell her, putting a hand on either side of her waist and pulling her away from you. Her brow crinkled but as adorable as that is you don't have much time to process it because she's leaning in and it's all you can do to lean back, away from her.

"Betty?" She asks, confused, and this time you do get to revel in the crinkled brow. You almost reach out a hand to smooth it but manage to refrain.

"Thin walls, Kate."

"Teresa didn't seem to mind," she says huffily.

"I need a little time. And, after that, I don't want to be with you in this room, in this rooming house, having to be quiet and hearing soldiers leave at all hours. I want to be able to take my time, make a little noise. In my own house." You rub your thumbs across the lower of her ribs. "And I don't mind how long that takes. Because it'll be worth it." Kate steps back and sits heavily on the bed.

"But Betty, how long _will_ that take?"

"I don't know. Got some savings, maybe get a loan."

"I don't know how long I can wait, Betty," she tells you seriously and there's something about the way she said that and the way she's looking at you that sends a jolt straight through you, like that time you turned the light on while you were in the shower. But this doesn't dissipate; it lingers in your hands and they want nothing more than to run themselves all over Kate's body. You clench them into fists and keep them at your side.

"I'll call Gladys, straight after church. She'll know what I should do."

"Are you sure we can't just…" she pats the bed beside her and you want to, by god you want to, but you're still uncertain; you waver, just for a moment, listening to the electricity thrumming through your veins like so much copper wire.

But you need to know for sure. That this isn't still about guilt for her. And you're willing to wait until you're absolutely sure.

Because you know it'll be worth the wait.

So you nod and sit stiffly next to her. She slips her hand back into yours and you feel it then, the frequency and amplitude of her own muted circuit. It sends a static shock to your own system but you don't let go.

"First thing tomorrow. Before church, you call her." Kate tells you sternly.

"The rich and idle lie abed until noon, Kate. Can't wake her up for a simple question."

"It's not just a simple question. It's our future. I don't care if you wake up the whole house, you call her before church." She slips her hand from yours and gets to her feet. She pulls her pocketbook from her bag and hands it to you.

"What's this for?"

"Got my bank details in there. You said you'd need a housemate to make rent, once you got your own place. Figured it'll be quicker if we just buy together. Got some money from the trailer, too." You hold it in your hands and while there's more electricity pulsing through you than during a lightning storm in a power plant you manage to nod, running your fingers over the _Kate Andrews_ in fancy lettering on the front.

"Yeah. Quicker," you say, handing it back to her. And then she's leaning in and sparks are exploding in your head and she tastes like the beers you'd both been drinking a little while ago and then she's out the door and you're stunned and she pokes her head back in to say goodnight. It takes an immense effort to lift your head and reply in kind.

A few minutes later you get to your feet and lock the door. There's a humming in your system that you need to discharge.

* * *

Author's note: tl;dr edition: sorry for the delay. Reviews welcome. Updates should be more regular. Title from the Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark song "Tesla Girls".

* * *

Author's note 2: By brutal I meant I have nerve damage in my hand. Hip and spine are fighting for the title of most painful body part. Hip is winning only due to its lifetime commitment; spine is catching up. Fever, new painkillers, finally lucid. Ugh. I don't know why there is so much electronics in here. Dinotopia.


	35. Closer to fine

Chapter 35: Closer to fine

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No one answers when you call the Witham place; you guess they're rich enough to let even the servants sleep in. There's no answer at Kate's door so she's probably headed off to church already, getting ready to sing. You suppose it would be odd to walk to church together, anyhow, but you can't help feeling disappointed.

You chain smoke outside the church until everyone else is inside and the piano swells along with the choir so you don't have to talk to anyone before the service. You keep your eyes down so you don't have to meet anyone else's and slip into a pew at the back. You watch Leon talk about psalms and the choir joins in, one high voice mingling softly among the others.

Kate meets you out the front afterwards. She steals your cigarette and links her arm in yours.

"Couldn't get hold of Gladys," you tell her once she's taken a few drags.

"Should we head to her place?" It's a lovely day so you nod and continue down the sidewalk rather than taking a streetcar.

Gladys isn't at the Witham place though, and her mother informs you that she headed out a few hours ago. The two of you head back to the rooming house and Kate tries to slip her hand in yours but you shake her off. Linked arms is one thing, perfectly normal. Holding hands on the street? That's dangerous. She shoots you a disappointed look but hooks her hand in your elbow instead.

Gladys is playing cards with a couple of girls downstairs when you get home. When she sees you in the doorway you nod your head at the stairs and she discretely excuses herself to follow you to your room.

Once you shut the door behind you, you get to the point.

"I want to move out of the rooming house, Glad. How do I go about buying a house?"

"And you think I'd know something like that? How many houses do you think I've bought, Betty?" Gladys asks, smirking. You roll your eyes and hand her your latest bank receipt. She reads it, eyebrows raised.

"Not a bad start, but you'll need a loan." Kate avoids your eyes and pulls a piece of paper out of her bag and holds it out to Gladys. Her eyebrows raise even higher. "You might not need a loan after all. At least, not a big one. One a bank won't mind giving a woman." She hands the papers back to both of you. "Got a house in mind?" She asks and you shake your head but Kate nods. She blushes when she notices you staring at her.

"I went past an agent's place before church. There's a place that might suit us in the window."

"That was fast," Gladys says slowly.

"I had a good reason. She's withholding until we have some… privacy." You can feel a blush spreading across your face and colonising your ears.

"Oh. Would you like to borrow the Packard?" Gladys asks seriously and you almost laugh.

"No thanks, Princess." You tell her quickly before Kate can answer for you. The look Kate shoots you is almost a glare. Almost.

"Well, should we go look at this agent's board?" Gladys asks, looking bemused. It'll be shut, but at least you can have a look at the pamphlets in the window. You shrug, Kate nods eagerly and the three of you pile out into the sunlit street.

* * *

Author's note: Bleh. Not sure about including smut in this story so there may be a separate, higher-rated story. Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading.  
Title from the iconical Indigo Girls' song.


	36. Houdini's Box

Chapter 36: Houdini's box (close the lid and tie the knots)

* * *

Kate beams at you as you look at the picture of the house she wants. Ivan was right about the way she looks at you, you finally realize, and you wonder how you could have ever doubted her. Her hand slips into yours and it grounds you somehow.

"Well? What do you think?" She asks breathlessly. You shrug; you hadn't really looked at it properly yet. It's not what you imagined, but it's decent. Two bedrooms, fully plumbed and wired. You don't recognize the street it's advertised on, but it says it's close to one of the streetcar lines.

"I suppose it's worth a look," you say casually. It can't be this easy.

It isn't.

You can't take the next morning off to look at it, and Gladys has skipped enough days too. So Kate goes alone and when she trudges into your room that night you can tell that this isn't it. You feel relieved, but Kate isn't deterred that easily. She spends the rest of the week looking in windows and newspapers and Gladys is swept up in the general excitement.

You're getting a bit sick of this. This was your dream and it's been hijacked because Kate can't keep her hands off you. She's trying, watching her try is like looking at a dog tugging on a leash tied to a post.

You keep your ear to the ground so you can see if anyone thinks it's odd that the two of you want to live together but all the other girls just seem jealous that you've scraped together enough to leave the rooming house. They speak reverently of a private washroom and wistfully of quiet nights. Kate knows enough to know not to act differently around you. Ivan has been mooning over Kate in the distance and when he asks you to join him for a drink on Thursday night you take him up almost eagerly on the offer. You've heard enough about wallpaper and rail-lines and ambient lighting, which is all that fills your room of an evening.

The Jewel Box allows you a bit of breathing space to escape the future Gladys and Kate are building for you. You have a beer while you're waiting for Ivan and he slips into a seat next to you a few deep draughts later. He puts two beers on the table, one in front of you.

"I didn't hurt you the other night, did I?" He asks. You rub your jaw and shrug.

"Nah. I've had worse."

"Good. I don't know what came over me."

"It's hard, being dropped, isn't it?" You ask. He snorts.

"Twice in a row? Yeah," he says, and he should sound bitter but he mostly sounds resigned. "I didn't put too much pressure on you, did I? I mean…" and he's blushing and you feel bad for him.

"I wouldn't have if I didn't want to," you tell him, and it's even almost true. "I think I maybe wasn't ready, though." He nods as if that's confirmation of what he's been waiting to hear.

"And Kate wasn't ready to marry me." He sighs and drinks deeply. You keep an eye on his hands, in case the beer makes him start swinging again.

"You didn't..." You start to ask but you can't form the words. This is something you haven't been able to talk about with Kate and it's something you've really wanted to know.

"You mean…" he starts, then shakes his head. "Nah. She's not that sort of girl, you know?" You should be offended that you are apparently that sort of girl but you're too busy trying not to snort at the thought that Kate isn't 'that sort of girl'.

"I know," you finally say. "I know she felt bad, not telling you about her dad, but how can you tell someone you like something like that? And then, having you know what her life was like before? It was too much. She doesn't talk about it because she doesn't want to talk about it." He nods, then walks to the bar and grabs another two beers.

"I don't care about that. I care about her," he tells you earnestly when he returns.

"You also care that she's friends with Leon," you point out.

"I'm friends with you, and you're a murderer," he points out, and you realize that Kate hasn't told him that little detail. "I'm sure I could get used to Leon, given time."

"Maybe you should be talking about this with her, not me," you suggest, because now you want to leave and go bury yourself under your sheets and never see daylight ever again. But first you'll have to kick women out of your room and burn a bunch of house brochures. "I gotta get going," you say, getting to your feet. He grabs you by the wrist.

"Hey, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. I know it was an accident." You waver for a second. "At least finish your beer?" He says quietly. When you sit back down he holds out his silver cigarette case with one cigarette tipped towards you like a bribe but you take it because you've been smoking a lot, lately. You both light up and just watch smoke waft up toward the ceiling. "I don't think I thanked you, by the way," he says casually. "I get the feeling that she'd still be looking over her shoulder if you hadn't… done that."

"Don't know if she'll ever stop looking over her shoulder, Ivan," you tell him. He reaches a hand across the table toward you.

"I don't suppose there's a chance…" but you play dumb to his clumsy advance.

"I'm not putting another good word in for you, Ivan. I did enough of that when you were dating."

"You did?" He asks, and his face lights up. You roll your eyes.

"She's my best friend, she needed to know it wasn't strange for me that you were dating." His face falls and his hand retreats. You're relieved when Vera comes in and joins you, even if it means more talk about looking at houses.

* * *

Author's note: this took a turn because I ran into my Ivan today for the first time in 7 years and it freaked me the heck out. Thanks for the feedback, smut will be in a higher rated chapter.

Title from the Jill Sobule song "Houdini's Box".


	37. In your room

Chapter 37: In your room

* * *

You manage to escape after an hour or so and, as you'd assumed, Kate and Gladys have made themselves comfortable in your room again, amongst a nest of house photographs and descriptions. You don't know why your room is the house-hunting headquarters all of a sudden. You shut the door behind you, resigned.

"Can you give it a rest, girls?" Gladys looks up from where she's kneeling on the floor, book of calculations in front of her.

"I thought you were the one that wanted to buy a house?" She asks, puzzled.

"It's happening so fast," you say, sitting heavily next to Kate on the bed.

"But you said we'd have to wait until we had a place of our own." Kate says, and her eyebrows furrow.

"I said I needed time as well as privacy, Kate," you remind her.

"It'll take time to buy a house anyhow, we might as well start as soon as we can. I don't know why you're so… half-hearted about this."

"Because every time I think you might be serious, I think of the way you looked at me after I kissed you. I think how you'd rather go live with a man that abused you your whole life than even be in the same city as me. Or sometime I even think you set me up for killing your father, and you still feel guilty about that." You hadn't realized you been holding these words back until they're spilling out of your mouth and hitting Kate in the face like they're punching her and you wish you could take them back but you can't. But once you're finished she sighs and scoots over next to you. You hang your head but she lifts your chin and makes you face her.

"I'm all in, Betty. What else can I do to prove that?" She looks hurt and it makes your heart ache.

"I don't know, Kate," you say. She reaches for your hand, but stops and puts her own back in her lap.

"Do… do you not want to buy a house with me?" And she looks so crushed and, well, you never could say no to that face.

"It's not that, Kate. It's just that it's going to take a while to trust you again, to forget."

"Well, what if you replace those memories with better ones?" She says quietly, looking down at her feet.

"Like what." She raises her head and intensity of her gaze bores a hole straight through you.

"Like me telling you I want to spend the rest of my life with you? I'd marry you if I could, but…" she shrugs. "The part of my life before you were in it? It's not something I like to think about. And the part of my life where I spend the rest of it with you? I love you and I can't wait for it to start. I'm sorry if I'm rushing you. I'll try to be patient. But I need to know how long you need."

It takes almost a minute, while you steady your breathing, to come up with a reply.

"You find a house, I'll be ready." Kate's hand finds yours after all.

"You're sure?" She asks, and you shrug.

"You said it'll take awhile to find a house anyhow." You raise your eyes to meet hers. "Sounds to me like you just proposed. If you're ready for that, guess I can be too."

It takes a few seconds for the both of you to tear your eyes away from each other and look to where Gladys is bouncing up and down on her heels with excitement.

"Oh, now we _have_ to find you a house!" She says, and for a moment you wonder what you've got yourself into. But then Gladys flings herself at the two of you and everything feels _right. _

And for once Gladys has the foresight to know the two of you want to be alone for a few minutes and discretely excuses herself with the flimsy excuse of needing the washroom. And she has the decency to knock before coming back in so you have time to rearrange each other's slightly disarrayed hair and clothing.

* * *

Author's note: Just another thank you to everyone reading this - you guys are great and your reviews are just... the best part of my day. Thanks.

Title from the K's Choice song 'In Your Room'.


	38. Feel like heaven when we're home

Chapter 38: Because it's gonna feel like heaven when we're home

* * *

You thought Kate and Gladys were serious about finding a house before, but that has nothing on the renewed vigor the two of them throw into the search the next day. By the weekend you're definitely regretting giving them the go-ahead. Or you would be, if it wasn't for the way Kate's eyes shine when she looks at you.

On Friday afternoon you both clock out early and Kate walks you to a real estate office where an agent drags you around to house after house and while you could afford each of them, you wouldn't want to live in any of them. Some of them don't even have electricity. Getting your own house should be better than this, it should be like the feeling you had standing outside that cottage in the stupid film reel. Instead it feels like trudging through the relics of other people's empty lives.

By the third one Kate is still trying to be optimistic but you know she can tell just how much you don't want to be doing this right now. You've been polite but she knows you well enough to know that you're disappointed. She asks, before you go in, if you'd rather try to get a loan, get something more upmarket, but you shake your head. The wheels are in motion already, and you'd rather be free and clear, once you find a house that isn't distressingly full of mold.

The third house has no washroom, just a shack with a hole in the floor. When you leave, you can tell Kate's mood is dropping so you try to prop her up with a smile. She smiles back, and this might not be impossible after all.

The fourth house is worse than any of the others and you decide to go home without looking at the last one on your list. It's on the other side of town and the sun is starting to set, and it'll be open again tomorrow, unlike the others. If you're lucky you'll be able to get Gladys to take you in the Packard.

You're too disappointed and upset to notice Kate shutting the door behind you.

"We don't have to do this," she starts, but you cut her off.

"Getting cold feet, huh?" you ask.

"About you? Never. But I thought it'd be… easier."

"Me too." She turns to leave but you say her name quietly and she turns back to you. "Kate," you say again, "we've only been looking for a week." She sighs and steps towards you again.

"But it feels like I've been waiting forever." She says, slipping her arms around you and resting her hands on your lower back so she can look you in the eye.

"Pretty sure I've been waiting longer than that," you remind her; she kisses you then and the way she tastes is enough to make you want to forget all about waiting for some privacy. But you pull away as quickly as you can, which is a considerable time, after all. "Can you wait just a little longer?" You ask, trying not to notice the way her hands are stroking your lower back, or the way your hands have come to rest on her neck and shoulder and are perilously close to slipping down her chest. She's breathing heavily but she nods and you're glad she did because the rooming house expands in an explosion of loud voices and shrieks and almost kills the mood.

Almost. She leans back in and when she leaves a couple of minutes later, to avoid suspicion, you find yourself pinning your hopes on that last house you haven't seen.

* * *

Author's note: Title from Wailin Jennies song. Again, you guys are fantastic, but the actual best part of my day is when I wake my cockatoo up and she's so pleased to see me that she starts dancing because I have never known anyone so excited to see me that they burst into dance upon being awoken. Reviews are a close second, though.


	39. Hurry hard!

Chapter 39: Hurry hard

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You spend the night in alone: it's hard to stick to your guns with self-imposed celibacy when Kate's right across the hall with her soft eyes and soft hands and soft… everything. It's a long night and you're relieved when Gladys knocks on your door in the morning, wanting to take you to see houses. She knows how you feel about the whole rigmarole so she's cleverly bought her beautiful coffee with her and places it on your bedside table before you can even sit up. She puts another two on the bureau and ducks into Kate's room and you rub your eyes and sit up. At least she let you sleep in this morning.

You're not especially talkative this early in the morning so you listen to Kate tell the tale of a hundred failed expeditions, of creaky floors and suspected vermin infestations. Gladys' nose crinkles in the appropriate places, and Kate suggests shyly that she take you to the last house today, she readily agrees. You nip downstairs once you're dressed and put a few sandwiches together and take a bottle of milk. You've got the feeling this house will be just like the others and while the weather is holding, you might as well not waste the whole day.

Gladys packs a thermos of coffee that has you salivating at the thought of it and following her willingly to the Packard.

You meet the agent outside the house and even from the outside you can tell this isn't the one. You thought you were prepared for this but your heart sinks anyway and you don't even follow Gladys and Kate into the house. They're not in there long; the agent shakes their hands and you get back into the Packard.

Gladys drives out of town to where the countryside meets the city. She spreads out a blanket and you eat your sandwiches leaning against a tree in a meadow but the mood has dropped significantly from the start of the week. Kate sighs when she's finished and lies down with her head in your lap. You keep your cigarette in one hand and run your fingers through her hair with the other and you can see where the red hair is peeping through, near her scalp. Kate hums under her breath and Gladys smiles at both of you wistfully.

"Well, at least we got a picnic in the countryside, right?" you ask Gladys and she nods. She shifts so she can rest against you too and shuts her eyes in the weak sunlight.

"Shall we start looking again when we get back to the city?" she asks, and you nod. You shut your eyes too.

When you wake up you're alone. You follow the sound of excited voices to find Kate and Gladys looking over a fence at a tiny house. It's part of a tiny, tree-lined street and looking up, you can see street lights and electrical wires. There's a 'For Sale' sign out the front and you roll your eyes as you walk up to join them. Gladys darts off to get an agent while Kate rests her head on her arms on the fence and looks at the house with shining eyes. You don't say a word, either of you, until Gladys returns.

The agent shows you through and it's not bad. It'll take some fixing, some of the shingles are loose on the roof and the siding is coming away in places, but it's set up for electricity and there's a tub, even if you'll have to fill it by hand. It's better than any of the others at least, and it's fully furnished. You peep into the first bedroom and start blushing and head to the cellar instead. The window frame needs some fixing, and it's a little damp but it'll be usable with a bit of work. It's a little far from the streetcar line but it also means it's a perfect opportunity to teach Kate to use a bicycle. When Kate looks at you with shining eyes, you nod your head and suddenly, just like that, you're heading to a bank then to a real estate office and buying your first house. There's a paper or two to sign and apparently you need to shake hands with everyone in the office. When the agent ducks out for a moment Kate kisses you square on the mouth and you spend the next minute trying to wipe a blush from your face.

The agent hands you the keys and advises you to fix up the few things you noticed before you move in, and you plan to. It has to be perfect. Because you want to make this waiting worth it.

* * *

Author's note:

Title from the Canadian game of curling.

They'll get to it when they get to it. It's gotta feel organic. Thanks for reading, feedback welcome. You get an extra chapter because pain.


	40. Other side of the curtain

Chapter 40: Other side of the curtain

* * *

You're not particularly mechanically minded but you manage to fix up a couple of bikes and ride out to the house every night after work. Money's not that tight yet but you have to buy a ladder, shingles and nails, and even hammers and screwdrivers and then ferry them over the house on a bicycle. You have to rebalance every couple of streets but every night when you leave, you leave with a sense of accomplishment. It's almost dark when you get there so you potter about the house, fixing what you can. You've boarded up that basement window and cleared up the damp, and you're considering how to run pipes to the tub.

Kate can't ride yet, so she spends her evenings at the rooming house, sewing curtains and sheets and all sorts of material things you can't determine the function of. She's borrowed a sewing machine from somewhere and she's set herself up in her room, looking happily domestic when you return after dark, sore and sweaty. She's also visited a couple of places and had the electricity switched on, and the water.

On Wednesday evening Gladys drives the three of you out to the house, the back seat filled with timber siding and copper pipes and other things that weren't possible to manage on a bicycle. Kate hurries inside with her arms full of fabric and you hang behind with Gladys.

"I want you to know, soon as I can, I'll get you back for that lawyer." You say, shouldering lumber. Gladys steadies it for you.

"Betty, you don't owe me anything," Gladys starts, but you cut her off.

"Gladys, I owe you my life." You tell her earnestly.

"Well, my life's better with you in it, so can we just call it a selfish act?" She asks, but you shake your head.

"I didn't know what I was getting into. I woulda hung, Glad. Your lawyer? Saved my life."

"Kate's brothers had something to do with it too," she points out.

"They did it for free. Lawyers don't."

"He's on retainer. Betty, honest, you don't owe me anything."

You start to argue but Kate comes dashing out in a whirlwind of excitement and starts tugging Gladys into the house. You prop the lumber against the wall and go back for the siding. You ripped the old stuff off a couple of days ago and the wall underneath looks good. You need someone to hold it steady before you can start putting the new stuff on, so you go inside.

They're hanging curtains.

You go back outside. And look at your house. Kate pulls a curtain aside and smiles at you. And you want nothing more than to be on the other side of that curtain.

So you go back in and endure a couple of hours of hanging curtains and scrubbing floors and putting sheets on bare beds.

You secure your lumber in the cellar first, though, with a fortifying cigarette.

* * *

Author's note:

Title from Eve's 6's 'Curtain'.

Should be another chapter in another couple of hours.


	41. Fixing a hole where the rain gets in

Chapter 41: Fixing a hole where the rain gets in

* * *

On Saturday Gladys drives you out again, and holds the ladder for you while you pull broken shingles from the roof and try to figure out how to slide your new ones underneath the old ones. She yells updates every few minutes on how her arms are getting tired and it keeps breaking your concentration so eventually you tell her she doesn't have to hold the ladder when you're not standing on it. There's no more than fifty bad ones in all, but it takes an hour or two to replace them all and you're glad the weather is holding. You slide to the edge of the roof and peer over. When you're sure no one's in sight you start tossing handfuls of broken shingles over the edge. By the time you're done both Gladys and Kate are looking up at you, shielding their eyes from the sun and you yell down for someone to hold the ladder.

Kate holds the ladder and has to step back awkwardly when you get to the bottom, arms either side of you holding onto the ladder. You're uncertain how much your neighbors can see from here so you only pause a moment before slipping away. You cough a little uncomfortably and reach for a cigarette.

"That should keep the rain out," you say, holding the flame to the tip and looking upwards. You feel the pressure of the soft pack being slipped from your hand then the _whoosh_ of a lighter and a hand on your shoulder. There's another _whoosh_ and then the click of your lighter snapping shut and a hand on the small of your back. "Well, now for the walls," you say, shifting forward to take down the ladder and fetch the siding from the basement. Kate and Gladys are still smoking and admiring your handiwork when you come back, hauling great sheets of siding with you.

Kate's terrible at holding up sheets of siding; but you'd expected that, really. With Gladys on the other side, though, you manage to get the outside of the house looking ship shape before heading in for sandwiches again. You figure sandwiches will be playing a large part in your immediate future. Fortunately Gladys has packed another thermos of coffee, only slightly cooled by the time you gulp it down, ready to start on the sticking window in the kitchen. Kate follows you and leans against a counter.

"How much longer do you think it'll take to be ready? To move in, I mean." Kate asks, and you shrug, fiddling with the window.

"A week, maybe two. Gotta do something about that tub, and get rid of that mold in the cellar. Maybe paint some walls. Get an icebox." The frame and the window itself have both swollen. You pull a plane from your toolbox and start shaving wisps of wood from edge, trying to close the window every couple of passes.

"Can't we make it, well, a bit sooner?" Kate asks, looking up through her lashes at you and you know, you _know_ that she learnt that from Vera. You turn back to the window.

"Kate…" You start warningly, but she sighs.

"I know. Time. Betty, I know I can't make up for the past, but I'd sure like a chance to try. Seems to me you won't hardly let me try."

"Seems to me your idea of trying to make up for anything is getting fresh."

"I'm trying, Betty. I bought a house with you. If that's not a commitment to you, I don't know what else I can give you."

"You could give me a kiss," you say shyly, putting down your plane. She steps closer.

"Thought you were just complaining about me 'getting fresh' all the time." She says, mouth quirking upwards.

"Yeah, well. We did buy a house together, and we haven't even christened it with a kiss. Isn't about the past. It's about a milestone."

She steps toward you kisses you until Gladys comes looking for you, by which point you're pressed up against a counter, your hands gripping the countertop behind you. Gladys backs out with choked laughter and Kate pulls back and laughs too.

"You know," she tells you "Everything I do, I do for us. You're just better at all this… woodworking than I am."

"Well, come here then." And you tuck her in under your arm and explain what you're doing to the window, and guide her through a couple of passes with the plane. The way she smiles when she figures it out is worth the ache that's gathering in your lower back from your morning on the roof.

* * *

Author's note:

Title from the Beatles' 'Fixing a hole'.


	42. Life, the universe, and everything

Chapter 42: Life, the universe and everything

* * *

You're so glad to have Gladys as a friend. You're also really glad your preconceived notions of her were completely wrong. You've never known friendship as unconditional as hers, and when she comes back into the kitchen it's to make another pot of coffee. You leave leveling the window to Kate and hold Gladys from behind as she makes coffee. It's another point in her favor that she doesn't even flinch, even though she saw you kissing another woman a few minutes ago. You've never been an overtly affectionate person; you've second-guessed every hug exchanged with every woman you ever hugged, but here, in your house, with your best friend and your lady-wife-type-thing, you're brimming with happiness that overflows into affection.

"What's this for?" She asks, checking the kettle.

"Don'tcha know a hug when you get one? 'Preciate everything you've done for us, Princess."

"I appreciate both of you too, very much so."

"I also appreciate your coffee," you hint as the kettle starts to steam. She laughs, a deep belly laugh that resonates against you, and starts to pour. You reach around her for your coffee and she pours milk into the other two and leans back against you with a sigh. "Lonely, Princess?"

"Yeah. No more soldiers for me though. And the pickings for non-military men are definitely slim around here." she sighs again.

"Might be I have some brothers," you start casually and Gladys laughs again.

"Got it!" Kate exclaims triumphantly behind you, and you turn together to watch a very smug Kate open and close the window multiple times, face-splitting grin on her face. She turns to see you watching her and gives a very exaggerated frown. "Hey, hands off my girl, short stuff," she says in a deep voice and then all three of you are laughing in the weak sunlight filtering in through a still-grimy window in a kitchen in _your own house_. Kate snags her coffee and sips it against the counter and watches the two of you over the rim of the cup. "You really never had a thing for Gladys, Betty?" She asks and you were mid-sip and Gladys leaps away from you as you splutter black coffee.

You wipe your face with the back of your hand; you're already covered in dust and your pants are torn at the knees from kneeling on the roof, you doubt this is going to disgust anyone.

"Really never had a thing for Gladys, Kate," you tell her solemnly and you were half expecting the slap to your shoulder that lands on you a few seconds later.

"Hey!" Gladys almost sounds offended. "You didn't have to say it quite like that," she continues, a bit meeker, when you both look at her.

"I did." Says Kate quietly, so quietly you almost miss it, and Gladys' eyes almost bug out of her head. You nod and think a moment.

"Sandy Shores?" you ask, and Kate nods back.

"I'd never touched anything that soft before." Gladys looks like she's coming to terms with this but you did kind of suspect this, a long time ago. The way she looked at Gladys was almost hero-worship back then, and the first time you took her to Tangiers, well. You thought you'd lost your chance. Then again, she looked at everything with wide-eyed wonder, back then.

"Well, when did you get over me?" Gladys asks, and you can just hear the cockiness behind that question and you have to roll your eyes and try to drink your coffee rather than wasting it on your shirt.

"Oh, about the time Betty said she'd make sure I was safe."

"You mean, later that same night?" you ask, and Gladys visibly deflates, as though it's somehow disappointing to only be someone's crush for an hour or two.

"I mean, I was in awe of you for ages, Glad. But Betty made me feel safe, and I'd never felt safe before." And for the first time you realize that, although she didn't realize it, her feelings for you were far deeper seated than you'd ever hoped. Gladys scrunches up her nose.

"I can live with that," she concedes, and you finish your coffee, grab your copper piping and see what you can do about the tub. It takes a while to track down the pipes behind the wall without ramming holes every few inches, but you manage it and yes, it is the same sized pipes as the fixtures so you run down to turn the water off then cobble together a makeshift runner to the tub. It's not perfect, and at the moment it's propped up by bits of timber you sawed to size and rasped semi-circles in, but when you turn the water back on and turn the taps over the tub, hot water gushes out and starts swishing away grime and you sigh with relief. Kate and Gladys hear the pipes squealing and peer in to watch the splash of water against porcelain.

"I never knew I caught such a handyman," Kate says, slipping a hand into yours. You shrug.

"Grow up on a farm, you're bound to pick up a few things." You look at the wall and it'll need patching around the pipes, so you're back to the cellar for some plaster.

It's darker than you expected, down in the cellar, and you realize it's because the sun set while you were fiddling with those infernal pipes. You pass Gladys in the hallway who calls out "Kate thinks it's better if we stay here tonight," before breezing out the front door. You're applying plaster to the holes you made in the wall before you realize you forgot to ask where Gladys was going. Kate walks past and you call her in.

"Not a good idea to stay here, Kate. It's still filthy and we're all dirty."

"You got the tub working, we can take a bath. It'll be easier to get started tomorrow if we stay overnight."

"I got nothing to sleep in, Kate. Don't want to get all your nice sheets dirty." You start cautiously, but Gladys pokes her head in around the door.

"Oh, I bought nightgowns," she says, and exchanges a look with Kate that lets you know you've been set up. There are beds in both bedrooms but you think you'll be taking the couch tonight. Because there's no way you're going to be able to look at Gladys' smug face over the table at tomorrow morning's presumably sandwichy breakfast.

* * *

Author's note: waiting for dawn so I can see a doctor.

Title because OMG 42! (Douglas Adams reference, grab your towels and don't panic!)

Like I said, they'll get to it when they get to it. Totally not nervous about writing smut. Totally not.

Reviews, feedback, thoughts - always welcome.


	43. As long as there's hot water

Chapter 43: As long as there's hot water

* * *

It takes a while to clean the tub but when you're done and finally sinking into hot water, you sigh with contentment. It was definitely worth it. The door is shut, the water is warm and somehow there is sawdust in your hair and pain in your lower back but it's all washing away.

Gladys comes in with a nightgown for you as you're rubbing yourself dry on your slightly cleaner undershirt. Slightly cleaner, that is, than your filthy shirt. The nightgown is pink and frilly, but you pull it on over your underthings anyway. The satin feels smooth and clean against your skin. You have to empty and clean the tub again before filling it for the other two, but they were nowhere near as grimy as you so they should be able to share the water. This is something you have to think about now you're paying a water bill. Gladys just watches, then shrugs her dress off over her head.

"You really never carried a flame for me?" she asks, shifting in her shift, and you shake your head. She looks disappointed. You start filling the tub with a sense of satisfaction in your plumbing skills.

"Look, Gladys, you're gorgeous and I love you but not everyone has to want you, just because they like women. I didn't even like you till I saw you pocket a rat." You say with a smirk and step out, shutting the door behind you.

Kate's in the kitchen, scrubbing out cupboards and when you inform her of your plan to sleep on the couch she hauls her upper body out of a cupboard, her mouth pulled downwards.

"Betty, if you're worrying about me getting fresh, you don't have to. I'm ready to wait, now I know we have this place. I just want to be close to you, one night, without having to worry if anyone's noticed that we're sleeping in the same room." She gets to her feet. "I miss your heartbeat," she tells you earnestly. And you believe her, because you missed hers. You give her a brief nod and check the sandwiches. There's enough left for dinner but someone's going to have to get the fixings for more tomorrow. "Have I ever told you that you look nice in pink?" She asks, and you give her a wry face and a one-shouldered shrug.

"Think she did it deliberately." You say, and Kate laughs. She goes to hug you but you step back because, well, she's dirty and you're clean and as nice as that bath was you don't want another one tonight. You gesture toward the nightgown in explanation and she nods, squinting slightly.

She turns back to the cupboard so you wander around, looking for things to do tomorrow. You should have done the gutters while you were on the roof, you belatedly realize. There's a couple of holes that need filling in on some of the walls, and they'll need paint or paper on top of that. You'll have to bleach the patch of mold in the basement again, too, and see what you can do about that window. But thankfully there's nothing you can do now, while you're clean and attired for bed, and you have a fear of wrecking Gladys' nightgown.

So you throw yourself down on the couch and wait for the bathing to end.

* * *

Author's note: mmmm NSAIDs. Sorry it's short, had an 17 hour nap. Title from Angie Broberg's song 'Hot water'.


	44. She'll be wearing pink pajamas

Chapter 44: She'll be wearing pink pajamas

* * *

Author's note: sorry about the notification, had to go get my spine poked and some more painkillers for my multi-color pill/physio cocktail and it looks like I'm getting into the pain clinic so that'll be nice. Another short one.

* * *

Gladys, you realize, is a lot like a cat. They both want all the attention, make themselves bonelessly comfortable on any surface and they both have an utter lack of regard of anyone else's personal space. What makes you realize this is Gladys bodily throwing herself on the couch, regardless of the fact you're lying on it. It ends with you curling your legs up so she can prop herself up on one arm, sighing contently, or if you'd rather, purring. You throw your feet, complete with thick woolen socks, into her lap and she rubs them absently.

"You're not jealous, are you?" Gladys asks seriously.

"Jealous? Of what?" Her fortune her body, her hair - there are lots of things for Gladys to assume you'd be jealous of.

"That Kate loved me first."

"She didn't. Just had a thing for you, is all," you huff. "Anyhow, she loves me _now_ and that's, well…" It's everything you ever wanted, and you don't even have to finish the sentence because Gladys _knows_. You jiggle your feet to get her fingers moving on your feet again and twist to get your cigarettes from the table. You're both happily smoking when Kate comes in wearing green pajamas and if your foot accidentally kicks Gladys in the stomach, just a little bit, you can't see how that's your fault at all.


	45. I will wait for you

Chapter 45: No matter what else I will do, I will wait for you

* * *

You finish the sandwiches as slowly as you can, putting off the inevitable bedtime as long as you can. Eventually Gladys yawns and excuses herself and Kate looks at you expectantly. She leans forward and takes you hand and leads you to the – no – _your_ bedroom. You drop her hand at the doorway and linger there until she tugs you in and closes the door behind you.

You had expected her to be on you in a flurry of desperate limbs but she leaves the light on and leads you, slowly, gently, to the bed.

"I said I was ready to wait." She says as you stiffen your knees to avoid sitting on the bed. "If that's what it takes for you to trust me, I can wait." You go to say something but she cuts you off. "Not forever, but as long as you need." So you let your knees go weak and sit on the bed. She smiles softly. "As long as it's not forever," she adds, hopefully, with a raised eyebrow. She walks around to the other side and slides under the sheets she made herself. The material feels soft and smooth, and it's green, a color you both like. There are bedside tables but no lamps, so you decide against turning the light off. You want to be able to see Kate sleeping next to you in your own bed when you wake up, to make sure this is real.

When you slip under the sheets she moves her body flush against yours and looks up at your face, chin on your shoulder.

"Okay?" she asks, and you nod. She kisses you softly, right next to your left eye; she lays her head on your shoulder and her hand on your chest and every other time she's shared a bed with you it's left you keyed up and wanting more but tonight, knowing you're what she wants and she loves you enough to keep her hands (mostly) to herself... you feel… comfortable and warm and safe. You find a rhythm in her chest that matches yours and your hands keep time on her back until you fall asleep.

* * *

Author's note: sorry this is short but now I have zombie-pills for my nerve-endings and they kinda work but then I can't do sentencing. The original zombie Julie Verne chapter for today is below for those of you interested.  
Title from Ani diFranco's 'the waiting song'.

Pretty sure I already said this - it'll happen when it happens, smut wise. They've got to at least move in first, guys. Dat hawse be duuurty.

* * *

Chapter 45: Are you high (The adventures of two bomb girls in a hot air balloon).

* * *

Kate looks at your from beneath those long lashes.

"Betty, can we buy a hot air balloon?" She asks suddenly, and you ponder on that though a moment or two. A hot air balloon could be helpful, you concede, and finally nod. She squeals and bounces with excitement. Gladys gets to her feet.

"I think I know a man who might be able to help you out," she says, striding to the door and holding it so you can both walk outside with her, regardless of the fact you're all in night-clothes. You clamber into the Packard, very excited.

"I can't wait for frisky frolicking on such a contraption," Kate remarks, looking to the horizon with a sigh.

You arrive shortly at a dock. A man with a long beard and the uniform of a captain is standing on the dock, holding onto a hot air balloon like it's a balloon for a child at a fair. He smokes French cigarettes and looks despondent in the idea of humanity. When you ask him his name he tells you he is 'no one', in Latin. He does, however, sell you his balloon.

He hands you the balloon ropes and then dives off the dock. A submarine rises from the depths of Lake Ontario to swallow him.

You help Kate up a rope and leave Gladys waving at you from the ground as you climb into the basket. It's lovely, up here. But then you look up to see the Swastika painted on the side of the balloon and your balloon is shot to pieces by the Canadian home front airforce.

You survive by holding onto the basket and you're both eventually washed up on a Mysterious Island. Filled with human-animal hybrids and a man called Ron Swanson eating an entire pig.

This is where you film the first reality television show.

When Ron Swanson eyes you in hunger, you grab Kate by the hand and leap into a handy volcano. It's almost like a fun-park slide and soon you're in the centre on the earth, where dinosaurs still exist and try to eat you. As a last-ditch attempt at survival you dive into the lake where Captain Nemo's submarine swallows you and you are seen no more on this earthly plain.

* * *

Aren't you pleased you had to wait for an actual update?


	46. A real rainbow likening luck stop

Chapter 46: a real rainbow likening luck stop

* * *

Author's note: Had to cut my hours because now I am a sound-proof burrito of pain. It still hurts but now I don't care because I don't care about anything. Side effect.

Title from The Tragically Hip's song 'locked in the trunk of a car'.

* * *

You stretch when you wake and come across another body sprawled across yours. The smell of coffee is thick in the air and you've just spent your first night in your own house, cradling the person you care about most in your arms and you honestly can't think of a better way to wake up.

"Not going to church today?" You ask, ruffling Kate's hair. She blinks sleepily.

"Told Leon we need weekends to fix up the house for a little while." She buries her head in the crook of your neck, snuggling deeper into you.

But you're awake now, and you want to get moving; you want to get the house all clean and ready so that next week, hopefully, and from then on, every morning you can wake up like this. So you slip your pillow into Kate's arms and when she accepts it as a substitute you get up and pull your dirty clothes from yesterday on, folding Gladys' nightgown nicely and carrying it with you to the kitchen, where Gladys is humming and finishing the sandwich supply. You retaliate by stealing her coffee. You drink deeply and sigh with contentment; you need to get Gladys to teach you how to make coffee like that. Or better yet, teach Kate how to make coffee like that. Gladys gets up and pours herself another coffee.

"If I get started on the walls, do you think you could nip to the shops, grab some food for today?" You ask Gladys, pulling currency from your pocket and placing it on the table. She nods, yawns, stretches so you take your coffee with you and start mixing up some spackle. It's only then that you notice the sun is only just coming up.

It's a couple of hours later and you're nearly done when you smell fried bacon wafting through the house. You rush through the last few patches and scrub hurriedly at your whitened hands. You cover up the spackle and rush into the kitchen to snag a rasher straight from the pan with your fingers. Kate raps your knuckles with a spatula but you don't care; you have bacon. You'd almost forgotten what it tastes like. Gladys is watching Kate cook intently, asking questions that seem inane until you remember that she's never really learnt to cook for herself. So you keep schtum and keep stealing bacon from the pan until Kate gives you such a stern look that you pour yourself another coffee and sit at the table. A couple of minutes later a steaming plate of eggs, bacon and bacon-and-eggy-toast is placed in front of you and while you want to wolf it down you're required to sit and eat with a knife and fork while making polite conversation. The look Kate gives you implies all of this and you begin to wonder when you became such a good interpreter and if you can pretend, just this once, that you didn't understand. Then she shoots you another look, eyebrows raised, and you wonder just when she became so adept at interpreting you.

You're only half sarcastic when you ask to leave the table, but Kate calls you back, asking what she and Gladys can do today.

"Windows need cleaning, and I need someone to hold a ladder." You nip down to the basement first though, and work on the damp patch again. It's looking better. It's a pity about the window, but you can't justify buying a glass plate for an underground room. Not when there's so much else that needs doing, and not until you figure out how you'd get it in the frame. You haven't put in windows before.

When you get back to the kitchen Gladys is kneeling on a counter, scrubbing at the grimy window with some newspaper. Kate looks at you expectantly and you almost want to tell her you don't want her to hold the ladder but you can't, and you're sure it'll be fine.

It's lovely on the roof, the shingles are warm from the sun already and if it were any later in the day, you'd be getting burnt by the sun and the shingles. Instead you're dragging a gloved hand through inches of moldy leaves and throwing them just close enough to Kate to make her squeal. She's running wet rags over the outside windows until you need her to hold the ladder again. When she looks up at you, dirt splattered on one cheek, she tries to look annoyed but giggles instead. And you wonder just how you got so lucky.

* * *

Author's note 2: I still care, only now I only care about Verne and Tesla being bros in real life and steam-powered contraptions.

And I don't know how Canadians make coffee but they do it very well. If someone could inform me I would be most grateful.


	47. I want to ride my bicycle

Chapter 47: I want to ride my bicycle

* * *

Author's note: More fluff. Reviews, as always, are welcome. You guys are the best.

Title from Queen's 'Bicycle Race'.

* * *

The spackle isn't dry by the time you get back onto the ground. There was a moment when the ladder wobbled and you had that horrible sinking feeling in your stomach but almost before the ladder left the wall Kate had it back against the siding and her hands were steadying your hips and guiding you to the ground where you tried to pass off your shaky legs as the result of her touch. She knows better, you know she knows, but she knows you need to be brave and she doesn't mind that you lean against her for a moment.

You already have tins of pre-Kate-approved paint but because the spackle isn't dry you pull Kate's bike out of the cellar and start teaching her how to ride it. Walking to VicMu in the morning would mean getting up before dawn so this is just as important as fixing the house. All the big stuff is done, and you'll be able to paint after work tomorrow. And you'd rather teach her out here, where the street is quiet, because there is no way this is going to be dignified.

You try to sneak off to preserve at least a little of Kate's dignity but Gladys is wily to your ways and well, it turns out an extra set of hands doesn't go amiss. Kate has such terrible balance that you wonder how she manages to walk. You're glad you lent her that old pair of pants because otherwise her knees would be a mess. But by the time you all decide it's time for lunch she can stay upright on her own, lurching slowly forward, handlebars turning with every pedal. It's progress.

You fry chicken in the pan from breakfast. You know you didn't hand Gladys that much money, but she's earning her keep and every time you look at her, she shifts her face into an expression of innocence. It's useless to bring it up; it's how she is. If she wants chicken for lunch, least you can do is cook it.

After lunch Gladys takes a nap and, looking at the windows she's earned it. There's things that need doing but Kate yawns and rubs at a raw elbow that you washed carefully before lunch.

"Nap?" She says hopefully.

"No way I'm getting into bed in these clothes, and no way I'm getting back into that nightgown," you tell her. A nap would be nice, you've been working hard all week but you don't want to dirty the sheets or Gladys' things.

"What about the couch?" she asks, and you nod. You trail her into the lounge room and Kate is already settled on the couch, lying on her back. You're bashful about crawling your way over her and sometimes you forget she's taller than you but you fit just right under her chin, feet tangled together.

You wake up to see the late afternoon shadows shift across Kate's face and you watch, enchanted, until you hear the thump of Gladys' feet in the hall. You've done as much as you can for the weekend. It's time to go back to the rooming house, and it's going to be hard to leave this safe haven behind but you're going to work even harder to make sure you can be back here soon. For good.

Very soon, you think, as Kate yawns and tries to stretch beneath you. The way she smiles when she sees you and pulls you closer is enough motivation. You'll paint all night, every night, if you have to. You'll paint over it all.


	48. Under this roof we shall begin

Chapter 48: Under this roof we shall begin.

* * *

Author's note: Title from Small Fred's song 'Housewarming'.

Guys, guys. Chapter 50. Will be here soon. You might want to read it.

* * *

It's almost restful to get back to VicMu. Even though you know as soon as shift is over you're going to have to head back over to the house and start sanding back and painting the walls. Your shoulders ache every night and when you return to the rooming house you're stiff and covered in paint. By Wednesday Kate is following you, albeit slowly, on her own bike to hold the ladder so you can paint the ceiling. Lorna has taken note of the paint in your hair and the back of your hands and all sorts of odd places, and the dark circles under your eyes but you make sure that you keep your work on the line well above the base standards, so she doesn't comment, just congratulates you on your new house.

Vera is the first to ask about a housewarming party and you exchange a slightly panicked look with Kate. You hadn't thought of that. Luckily Gladys is there and somehow she's arranged everything and you guess that's why you keep her around. It'll be Friday after work and you sigh because while the house is presentable you still haven't ferried all of your things over from the rooming house and the place smells like paint. It'll mean putting the moving-in date off but then again, the place does smell like paint so maybe letting it air for a night isn't such a bad idea.

You have no idea what kind of food to provide or what you need to do and Kate has never actually lived in a real house so you rely on Gladys again and you make a mental note to never turn down one of her requests again.

You don't have much time after shift to get ready but Kate's more adept at the bicycle now and she has time to change into a green frock. You pull a brush through your hair and tug on a blue dress and then Gladys is there with food and an enormous ice-box. You have to wait for Marco and Ivan and Leon to arrive to haul it out of the Packard. Gladys gets it out the same way she got it in; pure charm. No man can stand firm in the face of that.

Folks make adequately impressed noises at the house and all the furniture and your makeshift repairs. You remembered to move all of your things into the other bedroom yesterday night once you'd got back to the rooming house and had to make another trip over in the dark. But no one seems to think anything is odd about this arrangement and it's a pleasant night.

You're taking a deep drag from your cigarette on the back porch, cold beer in one hand when Ivan rounds the corner and spots you.

"Hey," he says.

"Hey," you say back. He lights a cigarette and sits beside you.

"Nice place," he says, and jingles his hand in his pockets.

"Thanks." You say. You look over and he's got his hang-dog look on his face again. "Hey, you'll find someone else. There's hundreds of girls for every man in this city."

"There's no girl like her, though." And you have to concede his point so you pass him your beer as you stand and pretend to dodge a punch, which brings a smile to his face.

"It'll be alright Ivan," you tell him, resting a hand on his shoulder and there, silhouetted in the doorway, is Kate, and he's right. There's no girl quite like her. You can't touch her; not with all these people about, so you smile as hard as you can. She smiles back and you walk back into your house, your house, filled to bursting with people who've been as close to family as you could get so far from home and you know. You're going to be happy here.

"But what'll happen when one of you gets married?" You can hear someone asking Kate, and you pause to listen.

"We'll deal with that when it happens," she says, firmly closing that line of inquiry.

A couple of hours later you're tidying up when you notice that almost everyone has given you plants. You groan, because now you'll have to dig a garden. But then Kate strokes the leaves of a small rose bush and you accept it as an eventuality. Gladys yawns and heads off to her already claimed bedroom and when Kate turns expectantly to you, it almost physically hurts.

"Not while Gladys is here. We're going to have plenty of nights in this house. I want you all to myself."

"I suppose Gladys would burst in again anyway," she says, not quite convincingly.

"I resent that implication!" Gladys yells from the other side of the house and Kate nods; she can see your point. Tomorrow you'll be moving the rest of your things in and then there's no more shared bathroom of a rooming house, just a quiet house on a lane with a private bath you only have to share with one other person.

And that you love that other person, and that she happens to love you? Well. That's just the icing on the cake.

Speaking of cake, you're pretty sure some has been left unattended on the kitchen table so you duck around Kate and sure enough there's cake and you can finally undo the belt on your dress. Kate scrunches her nose when you pick up the cake with your hands but you offer her some and her tongue on your palm makes you wish Gladys wasn't sleeping here tonight. But you'd already promised you wouldn't deny her any favor, and well, she asked. So you swallow and steel yourself for a long night.


	49. Tonight's the night

Chapter 49: Tonight's the night

* * *

One advantage to Gladys staying overnight means she's willing to help you ferry your things over from the rooming house, once her head has cleared a little. Suitcases full of clothes and boxes full of miscellaneous items the two of you have collected over the years. Before you settle up you move the bed, just enough to make sure your initials are still there. They are and it makes you smile. You look around this room where so many things happened and you're almost sorry to leave. Then Lydia yells at Rita through the wall and Kate's in the doorway and you remember why you're not sorry to leave.

Gladys lounges on the sofa while you aimlessly move things around.

"Tonight's the night, then?" She asks and you shrug, moving Kate's clock over the fireplace. "Nervous?" She asks teasingly. You shrug again. You sit next to her. It's weird to talk about this, but Gladys has never withheld when it comes to talking about sex.

"Not sure she's ready. Hell, not sure I'm ready." Gladys puts a hand on your arm.

"Betty, I've only walked in on you two twice, and each time Kate's been in charge. She's ready. Are you?" You shrug again.

"I've never been someone's first, Gladys. I don't want to mess it up." You tell her sincerely and she rubs your back.

"You love her, don't you?" She asks and you nod vehemently. "And you know your way around, don't you? I mean…" you nod even faster, just so she won't elaborate. "Then what's there to mess up?" She asks and you shrug because it's never been so evident that Gladys has never had sex with a woman.

* * *

Author's note: I really don't get housewarmings. The last good one I went to there was three of us and we ate a meter of Toblerone.

Title from Rod Stewart's song 'Tonight's the night (Gonna be alright)'.

Next chapter is... chapter 50.


	50. This is where I want to live

Chapter 50: This is where I want to live.

* * *

Author's note: Here's what you've been waiting for. Can't change the chapter rating so be warned about the raunchy nature of this update.

* * *

That night Kate comes in from her bath, drops her towel and gets into her nightclothes in front of you. You've had plenty of showers together; you've dressed in front of each other so many times it's routine. Once you knew she didn't want you looking at her like that, you kept your eyes averted. And when you found out she did want you looking at her like that, you still kept your eyes averted because, well, you were at work. It's not professional to ogle the other girls. You're lying on the bed, a couple of pages into a book that you can't remember if you've read or not, trying to pretend to be disinterested. You're a little surprised when she dabs lipstick on her mouth with her little finger, as that's not something she usually does before bed and you start feeling nervous and excited all at once. She spends a bit of time brushing her hair, but she doesn't tie it up or put it in rags.

She sits next to you, takes a cursory look at your book, then folds a corner of your page over and tosses it on the bedside table. You didn't expect her to follow that by climbing on top of you, and you definitely didn't expect her to resist when you try to roll her over.

"No. I need to be able to know I can leave. If I have to." She says, seriously. And you realize just how serious this is for her, just how scared she must be. Then she pulls her nightgown over her head and you realize how serious this is for you. The difference is, you're not scared at all, anymore. Your breath hitches at the sight of her and she smiles shyly.

You run the back of your hands up the front of her ribcage, avoid her breasts and slide your hands down her back. You realize your mistake as soon as your fingertips catch on scar tissue and there's an answering catch in Kate's breath. Kate freezes on top of you.

"It's alright, Kate. It's fine." You start, but she rolls off of you to the edge of the bed and starts tugging your dressing gown over her torso. You catch her hand on her way up. "Kate." She slumps, and you've seen Kate in all stages of fear and anger and anguish but you have never seen her quite so defeated.

"I should have known he'd ruin this for me too," she says bitterly. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and sit next to her. You reach a hand to her shoulder but pause before touching her. She moves into your hand though, and you're relieved. You're not going to let her dwell on this, not tonight. You don't want this tainted. So you prop your hand under her chin and gently pull her head up until she looks you in the eye. You're too late. She's crying. But you have to make her feel better about this; you _have_ to.

"I didn't fall in love with you for your body or your face, much as I do love them. I fell in love with your single voice raised in song in the middle of a bomb factory. I fell in love with the first girl who asked me to dance. Those marks on your back don't mean a thing to me, now he's dead. They're just part of the past of a girl I love. Doesn't make you less beautiful; less anything. If anything, if makes you more..." And she lunges forward and she's kissing you, saltily and passionately and you don't want her first time to be like this, you want to wait until she's comfortable and feels safe because you know what it's like when it's not. You want her to remember this for a very long time, and you don't want crying to be any part of it. But she's clawing at you almost desperately, crawling into your lap like she's trying to climb into you so you take over, slow the tempo until you're able to pull back again.

"Are you sure you want to do this now?" You ask, and her eyes are puffy and still wet but they're looking at you, slightly unfocused with a hungry, intense depth in them so you're not surprised this time when she pounces on you. You fall back onto the bed, all the same.

You try to keep up with her but she's already shrugged your dressing gown off and turns to tugging at the buttons of your pajamas so fiercely you can hear the fabric around the buttons tearing, can hear a button or two fall to the floor. She straddles you at the waist and leans down and kisses you and when she cups one of your breasts you both exhale into each other's mouths. You're breathless but you don't care if you ever come up for air because before you can take a breath her tongue is gliding its way into your mouth, finding your own and creating a language you both understand.

It takes a moment for you to catch up with modern events and the fact that Kate is almost naked on top of you and _you aren't touching her yet_ finally sinks in so you remedy the situation. The skin of her hands is hardened from hard work but the softness of her face and shoulders have nothing on the silky quality of her soft belly, and finally, finally, you have her breasts in the palms of your hands, overflowing and you've never touched anything this _awe-inspiring_ before. You move slowly though, because you don't want to spook her again. But she stops kissing you, leans back and just _looks_ at your hands on her, and her hands on you, and then you feel her move involuntarily against you and you watch in wonder as her eyes flutter closed with a moan, before she shakes her head and focuses, leans in and closes her mouth around an aching nipple.

For someone who has never done this before, she's doing very well, you think briefly, hands sliding up to tug at the hair at the nape of her neck. She looks up briefly and you try to convey how much she means to you and she's kissing you again, shifting to cover your body with her own, sliding a thigh between yours and you can feel her dampness, even through her smalls and your pants and you buck up into her without quite meaning to, but she meets you halfway and you've always had to be quiet but Kate, Kate's making these delicious noises into your mouth, half whining keens and you'd really hoped her first time would last longer but it's barely a minute before she stiffens suddenly, taut against you and bites your bottom lip with a moan and you haven't even touched her yet; not properly, but then she's been waiting for this a very long time and she collapses on top of you, your hand is trapped in sweaty hair and you've never seen anything quite so exquisite as the expanse of her pale shuddering back spreading in front of you like an unexplored country.

When you carefully untangle your hand from her hair you accidentally brush one of her scars but she just shudders again and so you trace it with your index finger, following the flow to the next, and the next until you shrug her off of you like an eiderdown so you can kneel beside her and follow the path your fingers have taken with your lips.

You pause when you reach her buttocks but her soft moan guides you onwards, down thighs and calves and finally to rope-burnt ankles. She rolls over when you reach her feet and looks at you before tugging her underpants off and you could never forget she was a redhead but somehow it's a surprise every time. You take your time kissing your way back up to her mouth until she urgently tugs you upwards so she can kiss you herself. You lie on your side so as not to crowd her and her hands fumble with your pants and suddenly you see that uncertainty again so you pull her hands away and hold them in your own.

"You don't have to," you start.

"I want to." She finishes, and her tongue is delving its way back into your mouth and her hands are pulling rather ineffectively at your pants so you slip out of them yourself and then you're lying flush against her and she stops kissing you so she can concentrate, her eyes following the path her hand is taking across your chest and down your ribcage and then down further, and once she reaches her destination, then her eyes meet yours again; you'd never expected her to be this bold and you've been waiting for this so, _so_ long that it doesn't matter that she doesn't know what she's doing, just sliding her hand over you, because you bury your head in her neck, gasping her name against her throat in damp, ragged pants until you're limp. She's surprised and tender when you pull back, her hands soft on your back, moving constantly over your skin.

"Was… was that…" she starts, but she's not quite sure what to ask and it's adorable and you have to kiss her again.

"That was nothing. That was just the start." You tell her, before you slide your mouth down her body.

* * *

Author's note 2: Um. Yeah. So this happened. Review, I guess. If you want. Next chapter might take a while.

Title from Melissa Ferrick's 'Drive' and if you haven't heard that I highly recommend it.

In other news, looks like SIJD back-wise, strapped up and fingers crossed because steroids sound awesomesauce.


	51. Fumbling Towards Ecstacy

Chapter 51: Stumbling Toward Ecstasy

* * *

You don't get a lot of sleep, that night. You spend most of your time fixing things in your mind, like the way Kate moans when you press down _right there_, the way her eyelashes flutter when you push her over the edge, the way she tastes. You make memories, the way her skin feels under your fingertips, pressed against yours, where your touch makes her gasp and where it makes her giggle, the way she smiles when you cup her face in your hands and nuzzle your way up from her neck to rub your nose against hers before you kiss her again, and again.

But more than that, you treasure the way her hair falls in a curtain over your face, the certainty of her touch once she's watched you long enough to figure out what does it for you, the way she fits against you without cloth in the way, head heavier on your chest in sleep.

When you do get to sleep, it feels like you've just closed your eyes when an alarm goes off and there's a naked body reaching over yours to slap clumsily at a clock. Kate hovers over you for a few seconds, the look on her face inscrutable.

You lean in for a kiss but she pulls away and slips out of the bed.

Your heart sinks, even as you admire the sight of Kate walking naked across the room. She turns and catches your expression and rushes to sit beside you.

"I told Leon I'd be in today," she explains, leaning in to kiss you. "It'll take awhile to get there on the bike."

"Oh," is all you can think of to say. She strokes the side of your face and leans in to kiss you again.

"We might be living here, in our house, but you, you're my home." She says, and you can believe her. She's never really had a home, or somewhere she felt safe, and you're so glad you're that place for her. She stands and you watch her get dressed.

"You don't feel… odd, going to a place of worship after what we did?" you ask, because you're pretty sure you'd catch fire today if you tried to cross the threshold of a church.

"Got something to be thankful for, I want to go give thanks." She says, trying to pull her brush through her hair. It catches on every pass so you sit up and motion her over. She sits beside you and you brush out all the tangles you'd spent so long making last night. She smiles as thanks when you're done before putting her face on. You stretch, luxuriating in the feel of your skin against the sheets your Kate made herself.

Then your haul your relaxed body out of the bed and start getting dressed too. Kate notices you pulling on a dress instead of pants and smiles.

"Coming to church instead of working on the house?" She asks.

"Might be I got something to give thanks for too," you say seriously.

She tries not to rush you but your limbs are heavy and loose. Ten minutes later you're riding your bicycles, albeit clumsily to church.

* * *

Author's note: Felt better so I went to see fake snow in the city and some idiot smashed my car window and took my wallet so now the door won't shut and I need a new window and replacement cards all they got was $3 and a broken ipod I woulda given it to them WTF I am kinda over everything.

Best summed up by this exchange in 'The Children's Hour' by Lillian Helman.

["God will punish you."

"He's doing alright."]

Title from the Sarah McLachlan song 'Fumbling Towards Ecstasy'.


	52. Not crying on a Sunday

Chapter 52: Not crying on a Sunday

* * *

You park both bikes in the rack while Kate heads inside. Despite the difference in religions you cross yourself and close your eyes while crossing the threshold. It only takes one step before you're inside and thankfully not on fire and your eyes land on a Kate who is covering giggles behind her gloved hand.

Kate declines to sing in the choir today, choosing instead to sit beside you and brush her hand against yours where it rests on the seat of the pew. You're glad you've both put in regular appearances otherwise folks might be staring but you're a common enough occurrence that no one pays you any mind. You feel safe enough here to slide your hand over Kate's.

The people flow outside after and Leon follows to shake hands and mingle. Kate waits until almost everyone else has left before approaching Leon a little shyly.

"Think you could bless us?" She asks quietly, and Leon turns at the sound of her voice. He sees you lighting a cigarette a few steps behind her and you've seen Leon smoke cigarettes yourself but it doesn't feel right here so you click the lighter closed and stand beside Kate.

"Looks to me like you're already blessed, churchmouse," Leon starts, but he says a few words over the two of you and you're sure the words _eternal bond_ and _sacred union_ and you know these words won't stand up in a court of law but they make you _glow_ inside. He claps you both on the shoulder and turns to another member of his congregation so you, without a word, fetch the bikes.

You wait until you've home and putting the bicycles away before asking Kate what that was about.

"I wanted to make it official as I could." She says, unlocking the front door and filling the kettle. "Knew I couldn't get any other preacher to bless us." She puts the kettle on the stove and turns to take your hands. "You know, don't you? That I'm in this for life. That I love you and I wish I could marry you but I guess this'll have to do."

"Damn right it'll do," you tell her before pushing her up against the counter and kissing her thoroughly.

The kettle's burnt almost dry before either of you notice. Kate blushes and refills it and you think it speaks volumes to your prowess that she still blushes when you kiss her. There's a swagger in your step when you step up to turn the stove off and lead her back to the bedroom.

* * *

My friend I was visiting Friday had her car window smashed and her mobile stolen so I've been messaging her HOOT HOOT MOTHERFUCKER because I'm pretty sure they're the same people and I'm a vigilOWLnte.

We had a long weekend so I've hardly left my bed in three days. Nothing productive other than getting off stacked opiates. Worth it.

Title from Macklemore's 'Same Love'.


	53. Trying to evolve

Chapter 53: Trying to evolve

* * *

A couple of years later the Maple Leafs win the Stanley cup again and then, less than a fortnight later, the war is over; you're glad you never built a bomb like that, though. It doesn't feel like much of a victory, a whole city of Japanese dead when Hitler's already defeated, not even by the Allies but at his own hand. But you still join the swarming masses in downtown Toronto and drink like the world hasn't ended. Which it hasn't; for you at least.

Two weeks ago the Leafs won the cup but the streets that night in May makes it seem like the hockey celebrations have started all over again; this time with less maple leafs and more union jacks. Still, even though the war has ended, there's no way you'll be telling anyone you're of German heritage. Not even Kate, and you'd tell her anything.

But the war _is_ over and suddenly VicMu is shut down and all the girls are all out of work. The soldiers come flooding back in the hundreds and suddenly the girls that were so upset last week are not so upset anymore.

For you and Kate, though, it's a genuine concern, where you're going to get money. You've got a house now, and bills to pay. Sure, you've got some savings and there will be some war bonds coming back to the both of you, but they won't last very long, not now you're both out of work.

It's when you're both scrambling around for work that Leon tells Kate of a band that needs a lead singer.

It doesn't pay well but when Kate asks you doubtfully, you tell her to go for it. Music was her first love, and you'll never take something she loves away from her. Case and point: Ivan.

You get a job in another factory, signing your 'leave of marriage' documents with a smirk. The pay is much, much lower and the job is not as interesting so you move on to drive a streetcar for a while and you take night classes so you can maybe become a teacher someday. It's a traditional woman's role, and it's one that will keep scrutiny away from you and Kate. And now there's not a whole country being Canada's common enemy, things that people thought were acceptable just last year will soon be thought of abnormal. You pick up some material so Kate can make you some dresses. You're going to miss your pants. In a way, it feels like the end of something, an era where you could hide in plain sight among other women with actual muscles and pants. Now, you're going to need camouflage again, and as tired as you are of hiding, it's better than being in a cell.

When Kate comes home one night with bruising on her wrist, she tries to brush it off, saying whoever grabbed her was drunk but every night after that, no matter what (you cut class a little early when you have to), you wait at the club door for her. You get called filthy names a few times, take a few punches but no one, _no one_ is laying a hand on her that she doesn't want, ever again.

She gets a lot of offers and even a few proposals at the club but she conjures up a backstory eerily similar to Gladys' – war widow with a broken heart. Most men can respect that, and it adds a sense of mystery to her act. You go see her a few times and, despite tin ears, you know she's got something. You can't help but feel sorry for all the other suckers in the joint that will never even know her.

Still, after that one time with her wrists you undress her carefully every night. You thought she'd be mad, that she'd think you didn't trust her to tell you if something happened to her; instead she positively glows under the weight of your scrutiny. It kind of breaks you that she's still not used to someone caring that she's hurt. But the counterpoint to that is that she appreciates your concern and she's very… physical in her display of appreciation. Even though you've been together for years the sight of her still makes your breath hitch, from the moment you wake up and see her lying next to you until your eyes close at night, her body curled close around yours. And you're better at dodging these days so it's pretty rare that Kate has to press ice to an open cut on your face.

* * *

You still see most of the factory girls, and you've had Lorna over for dinner a couple of times. You're always careful to move your things into the spare room, to keep up appearances, but one night she tells you, in her tight-lipped way, that she's glad you have each other, and you guess that's the closest you're ever going to get to talking about _this_ with her.

Marco seems lighter, too, now that the war is over and his father has been returned to him. You catch a drink with him at Sandy Shores or the Jewel Box every few weeks and he's seeing someone, steady-like, but he keeps his mouth shut as to who it is. Vera comes in one night though, and ducks back out when she sees you with Marco, so you have a pretty good idea who he's seeing.

Gladys is as much of a permanent fixture as always. Kate's given her a spare key sometime over the years and Sunday afternoons you come home to her cuddled with a book on the couch and a fresh pot of coffee on the stove. It took her a long time to make amends with Gene but she finally has. There's nothing there for her though; she still hasn't dated since James' death and you wish she would. Your life is so much better for the sharing of it, and you're sure hers will be too. But for the meantime you're pleased to have her in your secret world; sometimes you need to talk about your significant other with someone else and no one is as open-minded as Gladys.

And, much like Kate, she has never asked more of you than you can give.

* * *

Author's note: finding Canadian history fascinating, we only studied Australia, Japan, Russia and Germany, those being us and the threats to us, I guess. Our curriculum was totally up-to-date.  
Only a couple of chapters left. Sorry about this. My brain is less user-friendly.


	54. I sleep all night and I work all day

Chapter 54: I sleep all night and I work all day

* * *

The forties give way to the fifties, and King Edward gives way to Queen Elizabeth. You don't mind teaching children; it's a bit insipid after building bombs but there's something new every day, and every night there's Kate to cuddle up to. All the blonde is finally gone from her hair and you're really glad to have your wide-eyed redhead back. She's been doing some recording with the band and hasn't been working nights, which is a relief to you. You feel a lot fresher, heading to school in the morning after a decent sleep. You didn't mind getting into street fights over her, but at least now you can keep a low profile.

Or at least you think you're keeping a low profile.

That is, until the Mounties start making enquiries at your school.

A few days later they interview Kate while you're out at work and she relays it to you when you get home. She's bubbling with mirth so you know it's going to be good news.

* * *

The Mountie had a cup of tea and talked about general things before he sprung this gem of a question on her.

"Has Miss McRae made any improper advances toward you?" He asked and Kate tried hard to look baffled.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" She asked, and you think that was probably overkill but Kate has a face even the most doubting would believe.

"Anything… unnatural? Immoral?" He asked, gently hinting toward his true meaning.

"Well, she does have a few drinks on the weekend, but other than that, I can't think of anything offhand," she told him and it's not really a lie at all. The Mountie looked at her, a little confused, unable to tell if she was really so innocent that she didn't know what he was talking about and if he was going to have to spell it out to her. He tried a different tack.

"Do any women spend the night here?"

"Just Gladys," Kate told him flippantly.

"And who might she be?" Asks the Mountie.

"Gladys Witham, of Witham Foods."

"And where does she stay when she spends the night?" He asked.

"On the couch."

"Not in Miss McRae's room?" He asked and Kate shook her head.

"We're all a bit old for sleepovers, really." She tells him. He opens his mouth and Kate could tell he was going to try to explain to her what he was actually talking about but instead he shook his head and shut his mouth again.

"May I see the bedrooms." He asked next and she balked at that in the name of decency ("Heavens! A man in my bedroom!" you'd expected her to say, but she kept it in the realms of believability. A singer she may be, but an actress she is not.), but you'd known this was probably coming and had adequately divided your belongings into two rooms. It takes you longer to get ready in the morning but being prepared has paid off. He leaves, a little baffled, but convinced of at least Kate's innocence in regards to 'unnatural behaviours'.

* * *

Gladys calls a few days later. She's the Vice President of her father's company now and sometimes you think she's braver than you are. You're just trying to live your life but everywhere Gladys goes she's smashing through barricades and broadening boundaries. But, as always, she's a true friend and made sure she sounded utterly scandalized by the mere implication.

* * *

Lorna calls a few days after Gladys. Says they got her from your list of references. Asked about your conduct. You hold your breath while she pauses to ask Sheila to turn the stove down.

"I said your conduct was always commendable, and I wished we'd had more workers like you." You're silent for a little while, then Lorna sighs. "I burnt that letter. Didn't even put it in your file."

You don't have to ask her which letter. You know that she knows and she knows that you know that she knows. You're silent a while longer, because you don't know what you can say to her, how you can thank her.

"Would you like to come over for dinner Friday?" You ask eventually, because you've gotten out of the habit of having her around every month or so. She accepts gracefully; after she says goodbye but before she hangs up she says, very quietly _take care of each other._

And that's what you've always planned to do.

* * *

The Mounties head off, having found nothing and seeking lower hanging fruit. You breathe a sigh of relief and move your things back into the master bedroom.

* * *

It isn't until years later when you see The Children's Hour on the big screen that you realize just how badly it could have gone. You call Gladys when you get home and she's sleepy and amused but takes your thanks all the same.

* * *

Author's note: in honor of getting my bag back and everything in it except the $3, e-cigs and a floppy drive motor (even got my knife back, though they did stab the crap out of my ipod with it), have an extra, unscheduled chapter.

This is based on fact, Mounties actually did hunt down homos which is confusing because I've always thought Mounties were awesome thanks to Due South.

Title from the Monty Python song 'I'm a lumberjack and I'm OK' because the Mounties' disgust makes sense now.


	55. love is so quiet I don't need to speak

Chapter 55: your love is so quiet I don't even need to speak

* * *

Author's note: Title from Lisa Mitchell's song 'Valium'.

* * *

"Every time I see an adult on a bicycle, I no longer despair for the future of the human race." - H.G. Wells

* * *

You're just locking your classroom for the day, brushing at a stray paint handprint on your dress and wondering if you were ever that immature when you were that age; but you weren't in school at that age, you were out in the fields with your brothers. You were fixing fences and milking cows, not learning the Prime Ministers of Canada, or the job of a Governor General. Seems to you these kids don't know how lucky they are, but then you remember your Oma saying the same thing to you. You don't know how lucky you are, she would tell you, when you visited her in Regina for Christmas or Thanksgiving, fire heating only one side of your face. You loved her and you didn't know why you felt such a sense of shame from your family when you did go visit her. They loved her too; everyone loved her. It wasn't until World War Two that you finally understood.

But then you look out the window, and you _do _know how lucky you are because Kate has ridden in the schoolyard gate; you can see a sack of groceries in her bicycle basket and she has one hand raised to keep the sun out of her eyes. You can see some of the kids eying her off warily; others are admiring her fine green frock and hair that shimmers in the slowly fading sunlight and you know some of them are wondering if she's a movie star. Kate, for her part, is following children with her eyes, a strange look on her face and when you realize it's wistfulness it's like a rabbit punch in your guts. You unlock the classroom and sit behind the desk and write out a revision plan, try to keep busy until you can will away the feeling that you're going to vomit.

There's a soft knock on the door a few minutes later, followed by soft footsteps and someone that tall should not be able to walk that quietly. Kate can tell there's something crooked about your smile but she knows not to talk about it here.

"I got the first cut of the record, couldn't wait for you to get home to listen to it." She says, still quietly, and you see a record wrapped in wax paper held closely to her chest. You look out the window to make sure none of the kids are making off with her groceries but she's left them by the door. You finish scrawling god-knows-what on the schedule and get to your feet.

"We'd better get home and listen to it, then."

You bicycle beside her, you brain revolving faster than your tires. Kate wants children. That's something you'd never stopped to consider.

Kate rushes into the house with the record and you're left carrying your assignments and the groceries. When you get into the lounge, Kate is just about to lower the needle. She stops when she sees you.

"You don't think I'm a fool, do you?" She asks, still quiet.

"Why would I?" You ask back, coming forward to run your hands through her windswept hair, trying to straighten it out a little.

"I don't know. I've just… never heard myself sing before. What if…" but you cut her off with a kiss. You bring your hands to rest on the back of her neck.

"I've heard you sing, Glad's heard you sing, hell, the whole factory and the whole boarding house have heard you sing and ain't none of them people ever told you to shut your mouth. That not good enough for you?" She holds your gaze and lowers the needle slowly. You close your eyes. It's a soft and sweet song, the kind Kate's voice was just _made _for. She loops her hands around your waist and you dance in your lounge room to Kate's first record, and it feels just as nice as it did the first time you danced with her, and the last.

You're soaking in the tub when Kate comes in, drops her dressing gown and slides in the tub in front of you, exposing her back. The scars have faded some, over the years. Sebastian's have too. He's a mechanical engineer these days, works in Oshawa at the GM factory. He comes over for dinner every few weeks, when he can make the trip. Gabriel is still up in North Bay with Kate's aunt. Her husband did end up coming back from the war, but like so many other veterans, he came back broken. Gab's getting an education though, while he's there. College, even. Kate's so proud of them both, you'd never know she was ever scared of either of them.

Then she shifts back against you, rests her head on her shoulder and you have to swallow suddenly. She looks at you then; she's been able to tell something is off with you all afternoon.

"Are you worried I'll go on tour and forget about you, Betty," she asks, taking one of your hands and sliding her fingers between yours. "Because you don't have to. Worry, that is."

"It's not that. It's… Kate, do you want children?" She brings your joined hands to her mouth and kisses your fingers.

"I guess I did, at some point." She says slowly. "I guess I thought, back then, having something to love would make life better. But if you're worried that I'm going to leave you because you can't give me children then you're stupider than I thought, Betty McRae, because you're more than enough for me." Then she shifts awkwardly so she's facing you. "I don't need children. I need you." She says seriously, and she brings her lips to yours.

Neither of you notice the record in the lounge coming to an end. The water is stone cold when Kate finally leads you to the bedroom.


	56. If I were a carpenter

Chapter 56: If I were a carpenter

1951

* * *

Gladys does something she never does a few nights later; she brings a man with her when she comes for dinner. She's as unblushing and unrepentant as ever and you get through the meal just fine. He's awful quiet until he joins you on the porch for a cigarette.

"Nice place," he says quietly, holding a match for you. You light your cigarette from the match in his fingers. You haven't had anyone else's hand that near your mouth in a while. You lean back on the heel of one hand and dangle your legs over the edge of the porch. He lights his cigarette and throws his legs over the edge too.

"I'm gonna be real honest," he says, "Glad says she doesn't care if her father approves of me, but if you don't much care for me, well, she says she might just have to throw me over."

"So, what? You want my approval?" You ask. It makes sense. Her father has started thinking of her as more than just a brood mare, but at the first sign of a potential courtship you know his eyes would light up like a scrub fire.

"I want her hand." He says, unexpectedly. You'd heard a few snippets about this reporter fellow from Gladys, but you had no idea it was this serious. You've even read his column a few times; he's got a way with words, that's for sure.

"Well, why do you want it?" You figure you have to at least ask about his motives. Make sure he's good enough for Gladys.

"I've never met someone like her before, you see, and I can't seem to shake the feeling that we were meant to meet, if you know what I mean. She gets all fiery when someone says she can't do something, and then she goes and does it anyway, half because she wants to and half to prove she can. And none of it out of spite. She's a catch, and I'd be passing up an opportunity to better my life it I didn't at least try to make one with her."

"You use that fancy speech on her father?" You ask, because it sounds too… pat… to be spontaneous.

"Oh Good Lord, no. Just used words like 'responsibility' and 'respect' and 'great fortune' and he shook my hand and wished me luck."

"So why are you asking me permission?"

"Because if you're that important to her, you're that important to me." He says, and he looks away to where you can see the Toronto skyline proper, off there in the distance. You follow his gaze.

It's the first time you've spent with a man where you haven't felt pressured to be something you're not.

And so you give a nod.

"Well, I guess I gotta shake your hand and wish you good luck then. You're going to need it; she's a hellcat when she's rankled."

"Don't I know it?" He asks wryly, taking your hand and helping you to your feet. You put your cigarette in the ashtray out there; Kate and you have both got into the habit of smoking outside in fine weather. Snow is a different matter. Clark follows you back into the house and Kate and Gladys are giggling conspiratorially in the kitchen over coffee. Gladys looks at you expectantly when you come in; you feel privileged that she trusts you to judge the man that wants to marry her. You give her a head tilt and that's enough for her to throw herself at you in a bear hug that takes the breath out of you. Then she pours you both a coffee and this, this is why you don't deny Gladys anything. Her lawyers, her ability to keep a secret, her great wealth and a generous nature – these mean nothing in the face of her coffee.

When they're leaving you notice his hat really doesn't go with his outfit. It takes you a moment to realize that it's a fifty mission cap. You bring two fingers to your eyebrow and he returns the gesture, helps Gladys on with her extravagant coat and then it's just you and Kate.

"So, you really did like him?" She asks, leaning against the door behind her.

"Don't think she's going to do any better," you reply, and you finally brush Kate's coffee mustache away with your thumb like you've been wanting to for the past half hour.

* * *

Author's note: Had to start using the cane again, but today is Tesla day, so I am getting away with it by dressing like a 19th Century gentleman. Nikola Tesla was a marvelous inventor and probably the last of the true 'mad scientists'. Much of our electronic infrastructure would be very different without some of his 300+ patents.

Title from a Tim Harden song that I yell loudly at my male BFF 'If I were a carpenter'.


	57. All I had was your word and a photograph

Chapter 57: All that I had was your word and a photograph

* * *

The Leafs win the cup again this year, and the children have a half-holiday. Technically you do too, but there's so much marking to catch up on that you take it home with you to make some headway.

You picked up an old book from the shelf a few hours ago and a photograph slipped from between the yellowed pages and fluttered to the floor. It landed face down, but you know it well enough by the back of it to know what it is. It's from that photo-shoot, the one Kate went to because she needed her security clearance. It's the one of her face you kept in your mirror until you got the real thing back, and looking at it now brings back the memories. How uncomfortable and scared she was that day, in a swimsuit, scars and everything else uncovered, and how it faded away when she focused on you. The look on her face in this one, it's somewhere between fear and trust. You'd forgotten she ever looked so young. You'd forgotten about this photograph.

Since you found it though, you've been staring at it, just staring and thinking. About how much she trusted you, to let you know her identity was false, to let you take her to a den of iniquity and still be able to smile at you.

You slip it back between the pages of the book when you hear Kate come home; they're recording again and doing a few radio shows. What free time she has, she spends with a heavily pregnant Gladys Kent-Witham, reading aloud or just sitting with her hands on Gladys' belly, utterly entranced by an unborn life-force.

You scurry into the kitchen to where the table is covered in papers of chemistry and history assignments as her voice calls out, wondering where you are. You respond and she meets you there, bent over and apparently deeply absorbed on the processes of photosynthesis. She peers over your shoulder and runs a fond hand through your hair before putting some potatoes on to boil.

"Gladys is about ready to pop," she says conversationally. You just grunt in reply; but she's used to that, you're a little gruff when you've got your red pen in your hand. "I just can't wait, can you?" she asks, and you nod absently.

You're a little off all evening, so she just pushes your steak and potatoes in beside your marking, and sighs when she pulls it away cold an hour or two later. She presses a kiss to your forehead and says she's heading to the bath and then to bed. You nod some more, and wait to hear the click of the bathroom door before you go back to that book, that photograph.

You chose this one to keep because it's the most _decent_ of the lot, and the vulnerability on her face reminded you that you had to keep looking for her. You wrestle for a little while with yourself, then you decide that Kate deserves _everything_ you are.

"Kate?" you call from the doorway of the bedroom. Kate is half-lying in bed and doesn't look up from her book. She needs glasses to read now, and when she's finished her sentence and when you repeat her name she pushes them up her nose to look at you properly.

"Yes Betty? What is it?"

"My grandparents are German," you tell her solemnly. She turns back to her book. "Well? I'm part German, dammit. I'm not a McRae. I'm a Braun." She keeps reading. "Say something."

"I don't see that it matters much, Betty." Kate tells you, putting the book back in her lap. She's folded the corner of the page over again. You wish she wouldn't do that. "We all pretend to be something we're not, sometimes. It makes sense that you kept it quiet, considering."

"It doesn't change anything, does it?" You ask, a little desperately.

"It's just part of the past of a girl I love." She says sincerely, and pats the bed next to her. You slide in next to her, rest your head on her shoulder and try to read her book with bleary eyes and a feeling that you've heard that particular expression before, a long time ago. Still, her heartbeat always soothes you when you're troubled, and having this out in the open - well. It's almost anti-climactic while still being a relief. You're exhausted from the mental battle you've been having with yourself all day, and now it's over. You're nearly asleep when something falls into place for her.

"That night, in the cellar. That's why you were down there so long. You were trying to decide…"

"Nah, just couldn't stand watching you throw yourself at the Corbett kid." You say, trying to shrug it off.

"You might be German, Betty, but you're no Nazi," she says seriously and leans down to kiss your forehead. "When you're safe, you can finally stop running. You're safe here now."

* * *

Author's note: Title from The Waif's 'Lest We Forget', because it's about time an Australian band got a look in. Can't believe I haven't used Tegan and Sara lyrics yet, duh-doi.

A fifty mission cap is a bomber pilot's cap that gets crushed in the sides after about the 50th mission, highly sought after as a status symbol.

Thanks for reading, review if you'd like.

There's still a few chapters left but the Institute of Technology exams start next week and as the token woman I have to do as good as if not better than the dudes. It's like, the rules of feminism.


	58. Face up and sing

**Chapter 58: Face up and sing**

* * *

Chapter 58: Face up and sing

* * *

Kate does go on a month-long tour, still in Ontario, but crossing over into America for the last few shows, in New York City. You're a little uneasy, but you've met the band several times and while you're not entirely sure you'd trust them with your life, you have to trust them with Kate's.

She travels under her real name. Having an alias has been helpful in the past, because it keeps your life together a little more sheltered than a singer could really hope for.

The night before she leaves, she asks you to paint her nails. She's never painted her nails before and it makes you a little apprehensive over her tour plans but you do it anyway.

It's when you're blowing over her nails that she looks at you intently before leaning in to kiss you.

"I'll be fine," she says, pressing her forehead to yours. You shift your face downwards because you've never liked to let her see you cry.

"You'll call, every night?" You ask, trying not to sound desperate.

"I already promised, didn't I?" She lifts your face and awkwardly wipes tears away with the palm of her hand, careful of the polish. "Why are you so worried?"

"That necklace of yours? The one from your mother?" Kate's hand goes to the necklace she still keeps around her neck. Your hand follows hers and wraps around it too, heedless of smudged nail polish. She's stopped gathering clothes around her throat but she doesn't take off the necklace. You've had to go buy a few new chains for it but the locket itself looks the same way it did when you met her ten years ago. Kate nods uncertainly. "It's precious to you. You take care of it. Kate, you're precious to me. I take care of you. And I get nervous when I let something so precious go halfway across the country with a group of men that I don't entirely trust."

"I'll be fine. But I understand. I'll call. Every night."

"You better," you tell her with a half-smile, swiping at your face. You untangle your hand from hers and look at her hand with a tsk.

You pull out the nail polish remover and scrub at both your hands and her nails.

You kiss her again, before you paint over it all.

* * *

Author's note: Short one, but there's another coming soon. These nerve-blockers are amazing, I can feel the muscle cluster twitch and then my brain gets hugged real tight so I don't feel pain, just twitching.


	59. The one person who really knows me best

Chapter 59: the one person who really knows me best (says that I'm like a cat)  
1952

* * *

Gladys and Kent invite you over for dinner a few nights, so you're not especially lonely. But you make sure you're home by 10 each night, and wait for her call. Sometimes, if the set did extra well, she's even later, but no matter how late it is she always calls when she gets back to whichever hotel she's staying at. Each time she apologizes for calling so late, but you tell her you can't sleep until she calls. You have the kids to deal with each day and sometimes Gladys drops Isobel off to spend the evening, so she and Clark can have a grown-up dinner.

Izzy is a lucky baby, you think to yourself and you walk around your surprisingly empty house, jogging her against your shoulder. Got her mother's looks and her parent's wealth and two aunts ready to do just about anything for her. Kate's utterly entranced by her; you came home once to see Kate and Izzy, lying on their stomachs on the floor, just staring at each other while Gladys lounged on the sofa, reading.

It's waiting for her voice each night that gets to you the most. She's so far away, and it sounds further over crackling lines. You only talk a few minutes, but you find it harder and harder to uncurl your hand from around the receiver each night.

Kate's somewhere between Vermont and New York when a mangy cat starts coming around. You find it early one morning licking the bacon fat you put out for the sparrows. Your street never really got developed, there's still that big field you picnicked in a decade ago, so you hang coconuts and pine-cones filled with bacon fat on the porch so you can watch the birds, morning and evening. You shrug it off, but you're angry when it scares off the birds each morning, until you realize it's not after the birds, it's after the greasy pine-cone. So one night you go out with a few pieces of bacon you overcooked and sit on the porch, smoking and watching the cat nervously come closer and closer. Now you can see it you feel sorry for it. Matted fur and filth all over it. It takes bacon warily from your fingers and allows you to pet it. Then you whip a washcloth out and wrap it up firmly and put it in a box inside. It barely struggles. You put some milk in with it and glare at it as it looks at you pitifully. You're taking it to animal control in the morning.

You don't have time in the morning because Kate called so very late last night, so you drop some of your breakfast in the box with some more milk and clean it out before you rush off to school.

When you come home the box is empty and the cat is sitting on a window ledge in the sunshine, struggling to groom itself. It looks up with such a resigned look on its face when you come in that you leave it alone.

That night you throw it in the tub and brush out its fur. It's a nice looking cat after all. When you run your hand over it, it purrs and you give up all hope for taking it to animal control. You let it out the next afternoon and it sits on the porch, makes no attempt to run away and watches the birds lazily. If it sprung, you'd get rid of it, but it just watches. You stick a few posters around the place, but you don't hear anything, just Kate's voice in one ear each night and a steady purr from the cat in your lap in the other.

When she calls to tell you she's about to board the Grand Trunk, you pause and she picks up on it.

"Betty, what's wrong? I thought you'd be glad."

"It's not that. It's just… I think we have a cat." Kate's laughter is delighted.

"I'll see you in twelve hours," she says.

"I'll be counting the minutes," you tell her, and hang up.

You won't be meeting her at the station, because you won't be able to keep your hands off of her. So you call the Kent-Withams and arrange for one of them to meet her at the station and drop her home.

You hurry home from school the next day, let the cat out and straighten up. All afternoon you're a frenzy of activity, dusting things and washing all the dishes twice, even ones you don't think you've ever used. You water all the plants. You even change your dress a few times. Miss Kitty just watches from the porch window with interested disdain.

When you hear a car come down your quiet street you brush your dress down with your hands nervously and open the front door.

Kate and you have never been physically affectionate in front of Clark; you're not entirely sure if he knows about you. But when Kate leaps up the stairs and into your arms, you don't really care. He has more tact than Gladys and takes his time getting Kate's luggage out of the car. He waits until you've pulled away from each other before bringing it onto the porch and giving you a half-hug over the shoulders.

"Good to see you home," he says to Kate, smiling.

"Oh, and it's so good to be home," she says, grinning back and kissing you again. He smiles and backs away with a wave, and neither of you even hear his car start up or drive away.

Kate drags you inside the house and kisses you thoroughly before pulling back, smiling still.

"You said something about a cat?" She asks, and you know you should go find the cat and introduce it to Kate but right now you're pushing a willing Kate against your front door and swallowing the moans you're pulling from her. Everything else can wait.

* * *

Author's note: OMG cliche.

Title from Ani diFranco's song 'Virtue'.

(The one person who really knows me best, says that I'm like a cat  
The kinda cat you can't just pick up and throw into your lap  
The kind that doesn't mind being held; only when it's her idea)  
Sums up Betty nicely.


	60. Yesterday you told me about the blue sky

Chapter 60: Yesterday you told me about the blue blue sky.

1955

* * *

The house feels different when you come home from school, a few years later. You call Kate's name but receive no answer. When you make it to the lounge room you come across Gladys, sitting stiffly upright. You haven't seen her like this since the night James died. You sit next to her, take her hand and wait until she focuses on you.

"Gladys?" She shakes her head and forces herself to speak.

"Clark's going to America, something about the war going on in Vietnam."

"Are you going too?" You ask.

"No. He'll be on a base, teaching children to fly." She looks at you bleakly. "I thought this was over." She says plaintively, and you can't think what to say so you just tug her to her feet and hold her as tightly as you can.

* * *

When Kate comes home, you hear her call your name after the front door clicks. When she sees Gladys wrapped around you in your bed there's a look on her face you haven't seen often but it scares you. You clamber out of the bed and Kate follows you to the kitchen. You haven't seen that look on her face since the night James died.

"Clark's going to train pilots, for Vietnam," you say quietly, trying not to wake Gladys in the other room. Kate's face opens in understanding. "Can you go... see to her? I have to get dinner started, and I've got a pile of marking to do and I have to make the last war seem interesting to a bunch of children that couldn't care less." Kate nods, and you see her fold herself on the bed next to Gladys, curling around her the way she used to. Gladys stirs and cuddles into her. Kate meets your eyes and nods. She's got this.

* * *

You make time, while you're waiting on the vegetables, to call Clark and let him know his wife is safe and ask if he needs anything.

He's relieved, Izzy and Howie are fine, and he understands. He knows about the weight Gladys carries around with her from the last war.

He also knows, and respects, that Gladys doesn't understand why this war is being fought by America.

* * *

That night you sleep three to a bed again, but at least this bed is a lot larger than the last one the three of you shared. You wake up and you're so used to sleeping with Kate that it takes longer than it should to realize the breast your hand is resting on isn't hers. When you move it, Gladys shifts.

"You should see where Kate's hand is," she says, amused. You run a hand down Kate's arm to find it planted on Gladys' rear, where you're wedged up against her. You move her hand to Gladys's waist and Kate makes a whiffling noise before burrowing further into Gladys' shoulder.

"You want to go sleep in the other room?" You ask, a little ashamed of how grabby both Kate and you are in your sleep.

"No. I feel safe here. I feel loved."

It's a few minutes before she speaks again.

"I didn't realize how much I missed this," she says quietly.

* * *

Clark does leave, a few week later, to train young men to drop bombs on enemy territory in a country half the world away, and a few nights a month Gladys brings the kids around and you sleep five to a bed some nights, it's like they're heat detectors, those children, with a cat happily purring somewhere in the middle.

* * *

Author's note: Title from Fool's Garden's 'Lemon Tree'.

Firstly, I'm going to assume that everyone's OK with the time-jumps. This one is about 1955, the previous was 1952.

The pain broke through the nerve-blockers last week, it's not SIJD. The doctor has said I have to double the nerve blockers, but I need to handle industrial equipment for Thursday's exam so I can't.

BUT – two exams to go, associates will be there and I've been nominated for nationals. Going to CRUSH IT.


	61. By the light of the silvery moon

Chapter 61: By the light of the silvery moon  
1958

* * *

All through the fifties you can hardly go anywhere without seeing Kate Andrews' face splashed all over walls and in the papers, or so it seems to you. But you know that while Kate Andrews is public domain, Marian Rowley is yours, and yours alone.

Success goes to Kate's head a little, she's giddy with excitement and whiskey after some of her sets. She's affectionate when she's drunk, but you remember that horrible couple of weeks after her father's death and you can't help but feel a little worried. She's bought a car and you taught her how to drive it but for the most part you leave it alone. You don't feel comfortable driving something you haven't earned yourself. And now she has the car you don't have to worry so much about picking her up after sets. It's a Ford Mainline, quite a few years old but Kate polishes it every Sunday like it's brand new.

You go to more of her shows these days – they're in high-class places, not like Tangiers or any of the dive bars you used to frequent during the war. You're settled at a table when a hand tentatively brushes your shoulder. It's Ivan, and you ask him to join you.

He doesn't say anything for the first song, just sits and watches Kate and sips at a beer.

When the second song ticks around her turns to you and starts talking and it's comfortable if a little strange. You haven't seen him in what must be nearly ten years. You kept in touch for a while but he drifted off somewhere and that's when you notice the ring on his left hand.

"Married?" you ask.

"Yeah. Bernice."

"Well done," you tell him, for lack of anything better to say.

"Kate never did marry, did she?" he asks casually, too casually. "Or you, either."

"No," you say quietly.

"Still in that house?" He asks.

"Yes," you tell him. "Any kids?" You ask, in hopes of turning the conversation away from you.

"Yeah. Little bruiser. Buster."

"Well done," you say again, like youve said to the last few people you've met from VicMu when they tell you about their children. Like procreating is something to be congratulated upon. "When's he start school," you ask, kind of interested despite yourself because children are your business.

"Next June. You teach, right?"

"Yeah, older than that though." You both turn back to the band, like an unspoken agreement.

"She's happy, isn't she," he asks, and once again he's a little too casual, a little too flippant.

"Seems to me she must be," you tell him, because you're a little wary now. She spots you and Ivan and smiles over the crowd at you and you hold that smile very close to your heart. Ivan is watching you closely when you turn away.

"She still looks at you like you hung the moon," he says in wonder. "Wish Bernie still looked at me like that," he says, resignation in his tone. And you get the feeling that somewhere along the line he figured it out. And now that he's married, maybe he doesn't mind that much. "You said we were destined for other people, Betty. I sure am glad you found your destiny."

* * *

Kate's pleased to see Ivan, after the set, and you leave them to talk while you go buy three beers. When you come back Kate's laughing at something Ivan said, her hand on his arm and for a moment you want to just drop the beers on the table and walk away. But you don't, you push that ugly feeling away and join them and Ivan's telling tales of Buster and his first fishing trip and the three of you laugh so hard that you're sure you've pulled some important muscle.

"Don't be such a stranger," you tell Ivan, when you hug him goodbye. He gives a wry smile and totters off into the darkness. Kate's arm sneaks into the crook of yours and you let her lead you to the car. She's especially beautiful tonight because you're the one she's going home with and you feel a sudden sympathy for Ivan. But she _is_ beautiful, and you don't tell her that nearly enough so you tell her tonight, by the light of the silvery moon.

* * *

Author's note: sorry about all the spinal whinings, it's just - this is what I do when it gets unbearable. Four days till pill city.


	62. Teach your children well

Chapter 62: Teach your children well

1960.

* * *

You're walking past a window, lunchtime at school, when you hear some kid getting wailed on because his father's an American. When you realize it's Howie Kent-Witham, you don't even bother walking all the way around the building to go outside, you jump straight out the window and a group of small boys squeals and runs away. You make note of which ones they were before helping Howie to his feet.

"You right?" you ask him, letting him brush himself off rather than helping him for the sake of his dignity, even though you're sure he won't get that smudge off his face. Could be dirt, could be a bruise.

"Yeah," he says gruffly. "You didn't have to do that."

"But, boy, did you see them scatter?" You ask, smiling, and he manages to smile back, a little watery but at least he's smiling.

"That happen often?" you ask casually and he nods.

"They keep saying I'm not a real Canadian," he says, shuffling his feet. The bell is rung, enthusiastically, and he scoots off to class. You go see to your own class, thinking deeply.

* * *

That Saturday you take three Kent-Withams and Kate to the ice rink and you teach Howie the basics of ice hockey. You might be wary of large bodies of water, but it's un-Canadian not to skate. Howie's not bad, a little clumsy but for his first time with a stick he's doing well. He takes a few tumbles but he's a determined kid and motions you to continue. Gladys, for her part, is doing a good job of pretending not to be concerned every time he falls over. You teach him about offside passes and icing the puck, then get him to shoot at the goal until he gets it in. His face when he does makes you glad you decided to do this, even though there's a pile of unmarked essays on native Canadian wildlife sitting on the kitchen table.

There aren't many other people on the ice today, it's far enough into the season that the novelty has worn off. Izzy and Gladys are racing each other around the rink at great speed and when you look for Kate you see her taking a breather in the bleachers, watching you with her face in her hands. You wave at her and she smiles back.

"Did you see that?" Howie asks excitedly. "I shot it in from all the way over here!" He says, and swoops in to get the puck out of the goal again. You chase after him and start blocking him but you let him slip past because it's his first time on the ice with a stick and the kid could use a win right now. The smile on his face as he scores is worth it.

Despite the icy weather, you've all worked up a sweat by the time you head home and Howie is decidedly cheerier. Now he knows something about hockey rules he can start joining in the talk at school about the Stanley Cup. The Leafs still haven't won, not since that last goal Bill Barilko scored in overtime before he went missing. That was nine years ago, and it's been a hell of a losing streak.

* * *

You're settled in bed with Kate when she turns the bedside lamp on and looks at you closely.

"You were really good with Howie out there," she says, finally.

"He's a natural." You say, watching Kate's face. You're not sure where this is going.

"You're really good with him. With all those children you're with every day. Did you ever want kids?" She asks tentatively.

"Nah, no use wanting something you can't have," you say quickly, because this is a conversation you wanted to avoid. You _did_ want kids, but you didn't want to have to have them. You'd rather be a father than a mother.

"You wanted me," she says, smirking.

"Yeah, but I have you." You point out.

"You do, you know," she says seriously. You run your hand through her hair and rest it on her cheek, before pulling her in to kiss you.

"I know."

* * *

The next time you see Howie at school he's joining in the frantic recall of the night before's broadcast of the game, and you know he's going to do just fine.

* * *

Author's note: I would like to thank TeamMcAndrews for her(?) consistent and enthusiastic reviews. They always make me smile; thank you. And thanks to everyone else reading this and all the other reviewers; you're all awesome.

KRudd is PM again, caucuses all over the place. Australian politics are ridiculous.

Exams are over. CRUSHED. THEM. ALL. Time for pills. That last week was excruciating.

Title from Graham Nash's song 'Teach your children well'.


	63. I stole this from a hockey card

Chapter 63: I stole this from a hockey card

* * *

1962

* * *

Author's note: Gladys kept the Witham because, as the only heir to the Witham empire, her father insisted. Also she's enough of a feminist that it sat right.

About ages: I've been working on the theory that Betty is 28 in 1942, so she'll be 48 in this chapter. Kate's younger; how much the show never really said so I'm working on an assumption of twenty-one in series one. So she's 42 now.

I'm obsessed with the Bill Barilko legend, thanks to the Tragically Hip song 'Fifty Mission Cap' where the title from this chapter comes from. My lady-friend is a Canucks fan, she nearly stopped talking to me because I wouldn't shut up about the Leafs.

* * *

Clark comes back up to Toronto pretty often now, but you weren't sure if he was going to make it back for Howie's birthday so you bought the tickets for the Leafs game anyway, three just in case. It's the last game of the series and even though they made it to the finals last year, they haven't won the cup for a long time now.

Since before Howie was born.

They came close last year, but they didn't make it. This year though - this year you've got it set up nicely. Kate and Gladys and Izzy are going to be doing all those things they like doing together – probably making Izzy dresses, god knows Gladys could afford hundreds but she seems to like the things Kate puts together for her, all greens and oranges and tucked waists. And you've got Howie and you'll be watching the Leafs and letting the boy you taught to play hockey explain the rules to you over hotdogs and popcorn.

There's a few moments of awkwardness when Clark does make it up in time, and you offer him both your tickets, in case he wants to take Gladys instead, but he shrugs and says she'll have a better time with the girls than at a hockey game.

You drive Kate's car to the Maple Leaf Gardens because Clark has his arm in a sling and gauze over part of his face. You haven't asked. Howie fills your silence though, clambering over his own sentences in an effort to catch his father up on the past few months. Clark just throws an easy arm over his son and closes his eyes, face tilted to the sun when you check the rearview mirror.

Any awkwardness you may have felt fades away once you're seated, close enough to the ice to be able to see blood or vomit bounce (Howie thinks it's the best part of the game, if someone hurls.) You grab some snacks and when you come back Howie is torn between gazing in admiration at his father and staring in awe at the rink, at the entrances the players will eventually come out of.

It's close, so close, but Dick Duff pulls through and you're there, actually there, to see the Leafs win for the first time in eleven years. Howie is capering like a mad thing, and even Clark, who prefers baseball, is standing and cheering, pumping his good arm in the air.

Howie falls asleep in the back seat on the way home, overexcited and overfed and probably the happiest little boy in Toronto tonight. When you pull the car up in front of the Kent-Witham place, Clark climbs into the front seat.

"How's she doing?" He asks quietly, so as not to wake the boy.

"Well, she misses you, that's for sure," you tell him quietly. "But she seems happy. Happier when you call," you tell him pointedly.

"So she'd be pleased if I were to come home on a more… permanent basis? She hasn't any other… irons in the fire?"

"She'd be thrilled. And you don't have to worry about that. You're the first man she even looked at since…" you just manage to stop yourself from saying James, god, you can't even remember what he looked like now, like all the boys back then probably, hair slicked back and hopeful grins and a fear driving their spines rigid. "… the war." You finish. Looking closely at Clark, you can't imagine him before the war. There's a solid core to him. You can't imagine him drinking away the night terrors like Gene, or standing in your old boarding house, hat in hand and sheepish smile. He's been through the war, sure, but you've never really thought about what it's done to him.

"Good," he says shortly, and rubs absently at his collarbone. He shakes his head and looks at you. "Thanks for keeping an eye on them," he says.

"Always." You tell him. "Now you get in there and tell your wife the good news. I'll bring him in," you indicate the boy in the backseat, and he rubs his collarbone again and grimaces, before getting out of the car.

The slam of the door wakes Howie, but you sling an arm under his shoulders and help him inside anyhow. Clark's recapping the game and it rouses Howie from his sleepy state and he joins in, all boisterous noise that's been missing from this place for a while. You perch on the arm of Kate's chair and just watch them reenact the goal in the living room. There'll be no rioting for you tonight, just a warm bed with your warm woman and she slips her hand into yours and smiles.

* * *

It's not such a surprise when they find Bill Barilko's body entangled in an airplane, along with the body of a dentist, just two months later. Something like that isn't a coincidence. And now you know for sure the Leafs are off their losing streak.

* * *

Author's note 2: I'm resigned to the fact that there are good days but for the most part it's been two months of 7/10 pain. Trying something different. I can live with it today. So here's an interesting tidbit about my country.

So one time my country waged war.

On emus.

It's called The Great Emu War.

It was a military maneuver.

We lost.

To emus.

It's the only war we waged.

It's the only war we lost.


	64. Like the dreams tell me what that means

Chapter 64: What's this rash that comes and goes, like the dreams, can you tell me what that means?

* * *

The house you've lived in for so long is cracking at the seams, so when developers start coming through and you're offered a lot of money for the land, you don't even think about it. Kate's a little nostalgic as she takes down curtains she made herself over twenty years ago, well faded with sunlight and washing. This little house has done you proud, but if the neighborhood is developing, you'd have to find somewhere quieter anyway. And now you have more than enough money to do that.

You buy another little house on another quiet street, but you have a two week gap between moving out and moving in. And that's where Gladys comes through for the two of you again.

On your third night at the Kent-Witham house you hear a noise in the kitchen and go to investigate. You know it's not Miss Kitty, she went to cat heaven a few years ago.

It's Clark, in a singlet and shorts, sitting at the kitchen table and just staring out the window at the pitch black night.

"Can't sleep?" You ask quietly, but you startle him anyway. He turns to you but he doesn't see you; he doesn't see anything. Kate must have felt you leave the bed because she comes up behind you and places a hand on your back.

"I've got this," she says quietly. You look at her and her face is full of genuine concern and a little apprehension but you trust her so you nod and go back upstairs.

Gladys is sitting on your bed when you go back to your room.

"He not sleeping well?" She shakes her head. "You're doing well?" You ask, because you hadn't thought to check, since Clark came back.

"Just worried. He's fine most of the time, but sometimes I… lose him. To somewhere else. Somewhere I can't follow him."

"I know what you mean," you tell her. It's not often you've woken up to Kate flailing in her sleep but the times you have scared you. You didn't stop her, or grab her though. She'd had enough of that. You just slipped out of arm's reach and spoke quietly until she woke up on her own. You hadn't talked about it with her but you have talked about it with Gladys and decided that yes, being beaten for most of your life, throwing your abusive father off a flight of stairs and watching him die might do that to someone. So now you let her ride them out, these night-time terrors, and guide her back with your voice until she's awake enough for you to touch her and bring her back to you, properly.

You've never seen Clark and Kate talk much, but now every evening after you get home from school you see them sitting together in the backyard, watching Izzy and Howie run around with their friends, smoking, not saying much; but you can feel it from the back porch, a sense of safety they've created, a little bubble where there's understanding and hope.

* * *

The first night in your new home she calls the Kent-Withams and you don't mean to eavesdrop but you hear '_deep, regular breathing'_ and '_just listen to her. She'll get you home safe.'_ She sees you in the hall when she hangs up and walks over to loop her arms around your waist so she can negotiate the height difference and rest her head on your chest. You run your fingers through her hair; you found your first grey one the other day but Kate's hair is thankfully as colorful as the first time you met her.

"I still dream about him, sometimes," she tells you quietly, mumbling into your neck. Her lips brush your throat and it's been _two weeks_ in Gladys' house and now you finally have some privacy and that bastard just keeps rearing his dead head.

"Me too," you tell her. Because it's true. It'll take a lot more than just time to forget the way a man looks tumbling downwards; the way he landed and was so, so still. He comes at you sometimes, but sometimes, and these are the worst of the dreams, sometimes he pays you no attention and keeps strangling Kate until she's limp and lifeless and her lips are blue and her eyes are bulging and he's just laughing and laughing and when you wake you have to check that she's beside you and that the last twenty-odd years haven't been the dream and that horror the reality.

But no matter how bad your dreams are, you know hers are worse. She doesn't have them often, not anymore, and she never says what happened but the look in her eyes and the urgency with which she holds you lets you know. Eventually she'll let you wrap yourself around her like a blanket and you wish you could do more than just hold her but you don't know what to say.

She never talks about it. This is the first time she's brought it up.

"He can't get to you anymore," you tell her, in the hopes that it might help.

"I know that. My dreams don't." She says. "But hearing your voice when I'm dreaming lets me know they're not true. Your voice leads me back here. To you." She tilts her head back and you're struck in that moment, in the dim hall lighting, how lucky you are.

How lucky that he fell, how lucky that there was sufficient evidence that you didn't hang, how lucky that Kate got away from him; twice, how lucky you are to have her.

"I'm so lucky. God, you're so beautiful," you tell her, cradling her face, rubbing your thumb over her lips. Her mouth opens, just a little. It's a clumsy segue but tonight's been heavy enough. You need to put this down now, and pick it up when you're stronger because the thought of living your life without Kate in it, if things had gone differently, is making you sore in your chest. Her tongue flickers to meet your thumb and her eyes meet yours and it's time to christen your new house.

There's no sense of urgency tonight; you can take your time, move through every room of the house and fill the whole place with the sound of Kate's moans.

So you do.

* * *

Author's note: The title of this chapter comes from a powerful song called 'I was only 19' about the Vietnam War. It was originally released by Redgum and re-released a few years ago by The Herd. I highly recommend both.

(youtube) /watch?v=ns82tHhJOr0

As someone with PTSD (Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder), I know other people affected by PTSD, some of them ex-military. There is one fellow in particular I am in awe of. He has come so far in the last three years; he's married now and adopted a 7 year old from an abusive home. Sometimes he tells me things that aren't pleasant to hear but they make him so much lighter for the telling.

Most of the scars on him didn't come from an exterior enemy. PTSD is a bastard of a thing and it kills more soldiers than warfare does.

Amitriptyline. It's a hell of a drug.


	65. A change is gonna come

Chapter 65: A change is gonna come

1969

* * *

The world has changed so much already but this, this is your year. Your neighbors to the South send a man to the moon, and in the same year, it hardly seems believable, it's no longer illegal to be what you are. There'll be no more Mounties knocking on the door, and even if people think it's odd that you're still living together there's nothing they can do to hurt you with it.

Jail no longer looms over you and it takes a while to learn to breathe without that weight on your mind.

Izzy is just like Gladys at 18, all moral outrage and protests but she has less to protest against than Gladys did; she's been out protesting your cause while you were busy living your life. You weren't there when Gladys told Howie and Izzy but that was years ago in any case. They were both too fond of you and Kate to care once they were old enough to understand.

Ivan calls to congratulate you and you're not sure what for until he mumbles something about the law changing in your favor and it's awkward but it's a nice gesture on his part so you take it in the spirit it was given. He's quiet on his side of the line, then sighs.

"I never stood a chance, did I?" He asks and it takes a lot of effort not to sputter into the phone.

"You're a nice guy," you start, but he cuts you off.

"But that's not what either of you were after. I get it. Anyhow, I'm pleased for you both. That you don't have to hide anymore." You catch up with him a bit after that; Buster is off to college this year but with the main purpose of the phone call over with he cuts it short and you're a little relieved. It's all a little much, all at once.

It takes a while to sink in for you, that you can walk down the street holding hands now. Kate's always kept up with the times but sometimes you still flinch when she comes up behind you in public to slide a hand across your lower back, or brushes your hair out of your face because you're not used to this yet; you're not used to being affectionate outside the house. And just because it's legal doesn't mean that everyone is happy about that, and you want to shelter her from… everything. But sometimes she's braver than you are and she's so proud of you that you let her show off a little. You figure you're too old for anyone to care anyway.

She doesn't come out publicly though; she's still kind of a big deal in the music industry although lately she's just been doing voice work for radio and cartoons. You even bought a color television to watch her cartoons; even though you can't see her, you'd know that voice anywhere. When Kate comes home early she sometimes catches you marking in front of the television, tuned into cartoon forest animals fighting each other and you look up, a little guiltily. And she smiles at you the way she does, fondly if a little indulgent. And this is why you vote every election; for the right to love the woman you love. And now you can.

* * *

Author's note: Canada is awesome. It's only been 16 years since the sodomy law was repealed on a federal level in my country, and we're still waiting on the world to change.

There are, at this point, three chapters left. There are a lot of chapters that never made it up here. The trouser-legs of time and such. Like the one where Kate doesn't stop drinking, or the one where Betty goes back to Saskatchewan.

Title from the Sam Cooke song 'A change is gonna come'.


	66. Shake it like a polaroid picture

Chapter 66: Shake it like a polaroid picture

* * *

1972

You happened to pass the old boarding house the other day, and when you did you saw a sign reading "condemned" over a chain-link gate that never used to be there.

That night you take Kate, a couple of torches, some bolt-cutters and a camera back to the boarding house. Kate is confused but indulgent and you show off a little by breaking in; Kate is impressed, but then, she always has been impressed by you. She follows you in and you lead her to your old room. That old iron bed is still there; a rusted frame of its former self, but the mattress is long gone. Kate is confused when you start tugging at the frame, then joins you. You keep a torch steady on the wall, pull your camera out and take a picture of the wall, where your and her initials are scratched deep into the plaster. She slips her hand into yours and you shine on torch on the film to watch as the picture develops in front of you.

Then she kisses you in the room you spent so many nights together.

* * *

You asked her, a little while after you moved in together, why she wasn't bothered about breaking the law with you.

"I know when something feels wrong, but you've always felt right to me," she told you seriously.

"So you're prepared to live a duplicitous life?"

"With you? Yes," she said seriously, before leaning in to kiss you again, to brush the covers off you both and prove herself to you.

* * *

Title from Outkast's song 'Hey ya'. Sent my friend a message saying 'when book good' from which she ascertained that we are going bookshopping. Pills are OK. She's great.


	67. The low moan of the dialtone

Chapter 67: I am walking out in the rain and I am listening to the low moan of the dial tone again.

* * *

Suddenly it's the 1990's and Toronto is a bustling hive. The rooming house was condemned and knocked down years ago; you're glad you took that one photo of the room, the room where it all started, where your initials were still scratched in the wall. You keep it in your wallet.

You don't see Gladys as often as you used to but when you do she's always got a couple of children or grandchildren around. You get off the streetcar and walk through light rain to her enormous house. Some things don't change.

Kate didn't know what to do with the grandchildren at first, just nodding and making high pitched answers to nonsensical questions, but you've always been comfortable and when a cascade of children descends on you when the door opens, you wade your way through, scooping a toddler into your arms on the way. You would expect being in your eighties would have made you frail. It hasn't. You figure you have hard work and fresh air to thank.

You're escorted to 'your' room by a fleet of grandchildren and sometimes you wish you'd had children, somehow, after all. Kate's children, of course, all red hair and freckles and scraped knees.

After lunch and whiskey (still the finest, after all, Gladys hasn't changed) you go upstairs to your room and sit on the bed. You reach for the phone they put in especially for you. And you call your home, many suburbs away. No one answers. You wait for the click and then you hear it; a voice that took your breath away over half a century ago.

"Hello, you've reached the residence of Kate Andrews and Betty McRae. We can't come to the phone right now. Please leave your message at the beep."

You don't say anything, just sit there; a ridiculous old lesbian sitting on a bed holding a phone, listening to the dial tone and the crackle of empty air space. There's a gentle knock on the door and Gladys comes in. You hang up quickly and she joins you on the bed.

"I saw Ivan the other day. The two of you really dodged a bullet there - he has not aged well." You stretch your face into a smile. It doesn't reach your eyes and Gladys embraces you. You were right, all those years ago, when you called the VicMu girls family. She pulls a book from the bedside table and hands it to you.

It's 'The Man In The Brown Suit'.

You can tell it's the same copy you had in the police station because there's a small hole you burnt in the cover when you were smoking, and you imagine you can see a curve to it where it hugged your spine in a courtroom.

You let Gladys hold you when you start crying.

* * *

Later you follow Gladys back downstairs to where a group of children are watching an endless stream of Disney movies. You sit in your usual chair, immediately disappearing under a pile of tiny affectionate bodies. Izzy pokes her head in and asks you to watch them while she finishes in the kitchen. You nod and don't look up when there's a knock at the door.

"Oh, I'm so pleased to see you! Come in!" You can hear Gladys greeting someone but don't pay any attention until arms are wrapped around you from behind and a familiar scent fills your senses, silky red strands of hair mixed with white falling around your face like fiery snow.

"I couldn't stand the thought of thanksgiving without you." She says in your ear, and you stand (dislodging children carefully) and pull her as close to you as you can.

"What about the boys?" Even though Kate's brothers are in their seventies you still call them the boys. You both do.

"They're flying out tonight, to stay with Gabriel's children." Seymour never married, but Gabriel's wife is from Vancouver so they tend to split the holidays between Toronto and Vancouver. Kate was supposed to spend this week with them.

"Why aren't you going with them," you asked, puzzled but not at all displeased.

"You know I don't like flying," she replies, cradling your face before hugging you again.

"You're not getting soppy in your old age, are you?" you ask, half-joking.

"Only for you," she says with that smile she only gives you and you're glad you both came here for thanksgiving. It reminds you of so much you have to be thankful for.

* * *

Author's note: Thanks for sticking with me. I haven't actually read this; I'm waiting until after I watch the season finale. I'm pretty sure the quality slipped in the 40's because of the nerve-blockers and I'm sorry about that. They steal eloquence. So, thanks for reading, reviewing, following, favoriting. And there's one chapter left.


	68. I wished on the moon

Chapter 68: I wished on the moon

2004

* * *

Izzy is the only one who's never been fooled by your gruff exterior. You yelled at her once or twice when she was little, when she broke Kate's favorite vase but she just stood there, waist high and wide-eyed, coming forward to take your hand and you softened immediately. So you've never fooled her.

Which means everyone thinks she'll be perfect to take care of you while you're waiting for a hip replacement.

You insist you don't need help, but the moment Gladys mentions it being a burden on Kate, who's not getting any younger herself, you shut your mouth and nod grimly. You'll be ninety this year; it's time to stop trying to be tough.

Arthritis has taken part of the joint, so until the public health system can fit you in, you're stuck hobbling around. The painkillers make you dizzy and you throw most of them up, the first week, but Izzy is there to take care of you, the way you used to take care of her. Kate is usually there too, to hold your hand if nothing more.

It takes a week before you notice that you're awake and in pain 20 hours a day, and there's a slump that comes about at 4:30 in the morning when you look over at all the pills on the bedside table and wonder what would happen if you took them all; if they'd actually kill the pain or just kill you and at this point both of the options sound like a good option. If only there was some sort of variation, but it's the same pain, all the time. Then Kate stirs beside you and it flares up your hip but it's worth it to see her sleepy smile.

It's another three days before you cave in and let Kate take the money you've been saving for your old age and buy you some private health insurance, enough to push you up the list and it'll be sooner rather than later.

* * *

When you get out of hospital, Izzy helps you into your favorite chair and pushes a newspaper in front of you.

"There's some good news in there," she says, "Might be a question you want to ask Kate," she hints but you've got no idea what she's saying because the world is floaty and hugging you a little too tight around the stomach. You bring the newspaper to your face but the words swim and your eyes try to follow them and you're swimming after them and they turn into fish and you have to put the newspaper down because you're seasick again. You put the paper aside to read later though.

It takes a week before you can efficiently hobble around, crutch under each arm, but this pain is different and different is better. It takes another week for you to remember about the newspaper and another couple of days to find it again but there it is; gay marriage is now legal in Ontario. Where you live. With your lady-wife-type thing. That you can marry now. That you very much want to marry.

But you want to remember asking her, and you don't remember very much these days. Pain-killer brain-killers.

* * *

So it takes another three weeks, and now you're only using one crutch and you've sent Izzy out to do something inane and you're too old to get down on one knee so you just sit next to her on the couch and wait for her to turn her attention to you. She's reading a book and none of the corners are turned over and it takes a while to note that it's The Man In The Brown Suit, the book in which you use Kate's photo; that very old, black and white, borderline-tasteful photograph, as a bookmark. She slips it between the pages without a word and turns to you.

You didn't expect to be nervous about this; you've been together such a long time that you shouldn't be worried but you are in no way the young woman she met so long ago and it takes a lot of effort to sputter out your first sentence.

"Um. So, did you know they…" you trail off because you forgot when that sentence was going. This happens often and Kate's become adept at indulgently waiting. "Changed the law again," you finish, lining the words of your next sentence in the correct order as she nods. There's a bit of a sparkle to her eyes; she knows where this is going and suddenly you're not nervous anymore and you have no idea why you were nervous in the first place. "So. You wouldn't mind if I asked you to make it official?"

"Betty," she scolds. "I've been waiting the best part of sixty years and that's how you ask me?"

"Don't see you asking me," you retort, and she sways.

"I was going to wait until you were better. But I guess now's a good a time as any. I said I'd marry you if I could; well now I can, so I plan to marry you and you'd better damn well make an honest woman out of me, Betty McRae, or I'll put you back in the hospital."

There's not much you can say to that so you just nod uncertainly because you're not able to tell if there was a question in there. She sighs.

"Marry me, Betty," she says and Izzy has impeccable timing just like her mother because she slams the front door and comes into the lounge room just as you're saying yes.

"I got the pickles," she says, holding up a jar when you pull apart.

* * *

You have to wait another month because your hip is still healing and Kate is making things and Gladys keeps coming over to whisper with her and you try to take an interest but all that interests you is standing on your wedding day.

* * *

You get married in a registrar's office; you're wearing a dress for the first time since the 80's and you're standing on your own. Howard hovers beside you though, and he's ready to catch you, should he need to. You do need his hand on your elbow too, to ground you when it hits you that finally, finally, you can tell people "And this is my wife, Kate Andrews." You're too old and she's too famous to change names and by rights she's an Andrews that is a Rowley that should be a McRae that should be a Braun and it's all too hard so she'll be Kate Andrews and you'll be Betty McRae but you'll be married and that makes all the difference.

She takes you home, to your own home, to the home you've owned for decades and later that night she helps you into bed and slips in beside you after arranging the covers over you. You move onto your side, a painful position for you these days, and Kate, your wife, reaches over to shift you onto your back but you pull her in by the front of her nightshirt to kiss her. When she leans back there are tears in her eyes and her fingers flit across your face.

"I wished on the moon," she tells you, "for you."

* * *

Author's note: And that's it for this foray into fanfiction. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for all the support and such. No new fanfic in the works at the moment; two weeks off - was going home but I just heard back from the institute about work experience and just got my Diploma in the mail. There's also another exam I can take before the technician certification exam so I'll do that too. Still waiting on the pain clinic, too.

First, though, I stole some names. Clark Kent from DC comics, Miss Kitty Fantastico from Buffy.  
I spend a lot of my time with dudes so it's been nice to be able to fangirl over something with other people who know what I'm fangirling over. Thanks. You're all brilliant.


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